The Visitor
by PanicButton
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Spencer has a visitor from his past. Reid/OMC - Slash - some violence - some strong language...
1. Chapter 1

The Visitor.

**A/N: It's been a while. **

_Are you scared I'll start hitting you? ~ Sam Trent-Saviour._

He sat in the dark and waited. He knew Reid would come home eventually. He could wait. He could wait forever if that's what it took. He sat in the dark and waited with a book on the knees of his grubby black jeans and smoked hand rolled cheroots and though he was careful to place his glass of whiskey on the small coaster – a coaster he remembers buying once a long time ago – he wasn't so careful about where his ash ended up; nor where he stubbed out his cheroot butts either. It was winter and the evenings got dark too early. It made the evenings drag on endlessly when there is nothing to do but wait. The heating had come on about two hours ago and the small apartment was beginning to warm but he didn't remove his long dark overcoat or his fingerless gloves. If nothing else he wanted Reid to realise that he'd been waiting – forever waiting – in the cold darkness.

He had cooked. He had cleaned the bathroom and he'd stood in front of the open cabinet which was above the washbasin for a while staring at the various products held within. Finally with a shrug and a frown he'd closed it and walked back to the darkness of the lounge. And there he was still sitting when he finally heard a key in the lock of the door, the door opening, closing and then just the sound of heavy breathing.

Spencer knew that something was wrong long before he opened his apartment door. If the visual signs had been missed then the smells would have alerted him. Cigarette ash on the floor by his door, fresh scratches in the wood on that door – as though someone had been clawing at the wood – And the smells… cooking, smoke, a deep dark smell he'd almost forgotten about. For a while Spencer stood and just stared at his door. He had choices; he could turn around and get someone – Derek or Hotch maybe – he could walk in and pretend nothing had happened, he could call security to check the place out for him, but what sort of a fool would he look if after all this was nothing. Reid wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and then immediately licked at his lips. The key to his door was in his hand, there was nothing to stop him unlocking the door – a door which should be secured from anyone but himself – and walking in.

'Why now?' Spencer asked his door in a whisper.

He took a deep breath and finally slipped the key into the lock. Too late now. The person the other side would know he was here. No point in delaying things. Reid pushed open his door, noting with annoyance that his alarm had been turned off. He closed the door behind himself and stood in the stinking smoky apartment. He leaned with his back to the door and considered calling someone anyway, but … too late, much too late now. He clicked on the hallway light and winced at the way the yellow light filtered through the smog. It was as though his feet had been nailed to the floor. His tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. He could feel that his hands were shaking and annoyingly that his nose had started to run. He swiped across his nose with his hand and then stood looking at where he'd just spread germs over his pale skin.

'What do you want?' He finally managed to say into the darkness.

'Is that any way to greet me?' A cold voice replied.

Spencer didn't move. Actually Spencer for a while there stopped breathing too. That voice. Damn him! He thought this part of his life was finally over. He thought that he'd been allowed to move on and grow up. He touched his short hair with his finger tips and slowly made his way down the short passageway to his lounge. There was another small wall light which he switched on as he entered the room.

'Get out.' Spencer told his guest.

'What? No _Welcome home my dearest_?' The man stood and the book dropped with a hollow thump to the wooden floor.

'Get out.' Spencer repeated. 'And take your food with you.'

'But I've so much I want to talk to you about, like – what in the name of fuck have you done to your hair?'

Spencer stood and stared at his guest. He thought, hoped? No… regretted for a while and then maybe there was hope? That he'd never see this person again. That he'd never _smell_ him again, but here he was acting like nothing had ever gone on, gone wrong, and that smell was making his eyes water. The smoke was making his eyes water and the whole situation was forcing Spencer to stand doing nothing but leaking from the eyes and nose and licking at his lips. 'My hair?' He finally managed to say.

The man walked closer. He had his hands at his sides and his head cocked slightly to the left as though he was looking at some great and marvellous curiosity. 'Your fucking hair. What happened?'

'I finally got a hair cut.' Spencer said back almost in a whisper.

A hand reached out for Spencer and touched what was left of his hair. A thumb drifted over Spencer's cheek and wiped away the dampness forming there. 'No need to cry. It'll grow again I suppose. You look fucking stupid though.' He paused and moved a thumb over Spencer's lips. 'Maybe wear a hat.'

'I actually like it.' Spencer pushed the hand out of the way. 'And I want you to leave.'

'So many nights crying over the loss and so here I am and you want me gone?'

'I never once cried over you.' Spencer looked around the lounge. There were books scattered all over the floor, dirty plates, empty coffee mugs and cheroot butts on almost every surface. 'You enjoy messing with me don't you?' He moved around the visitor and began to pick up books and put them back on the shelves.

Arms wrapped around Spencer's waist and a mouth kissed the back of his neck.

'I missed you.' He said as shirt buttons were slowly undone.

Spencer stood with his forehead resting on the edge of the bookshelves. He could feel his heart pounding dangerously in his chest and he could feel blood surging dangerously to all the wrong parts of his body. His face felt too hot and long forgotten but suddenly only too familiar twisting started in his gut. 'Where have you been? You've been gone nearly two years. I waited for you. I virtually put my life on hold waiting for you to come back. Not a word. Not one message. Not even just in my head. Nothing. And now you come back and make my place a stinking mess and… what are you doing with your hands? Please don't.'

But the hands continued to investigate the flesh under the shirt and the mouth continued to plant small kisses on the back of his neck and now over his ear. 'I couldn't get a message to you Spence. I would have. You know I would have.'

'I know nothing of the sort. You abandoned me. You cant just walk back in again and expect me to…'

'Yes I can.'

Hands rested on Spencer's shoulders and slowly turned him around to face. 'Please Floyd. Please leave. I can pretend I had too much to drink. I can persuade myself it was a bad dream. Please leave while I can still do that.' He pushed the hands off his shoulders but didn't make any attempt to move them now that they were back inside his shirt moving slowly over his skin which had suddenly come up in goose bumps.

'You've found someone else?' Floyd's mouth was so close to Spencer's that their lips brushed against each other's as he spoke.

Spencer slowly shook his head. 'No.'

'I cleaned the bathroom.' Floyd told Spencer's neck. Spencer replied that he could smell the bleach. 'I cooked.' Again Spencer said that he could smell the cooking. 'I sat in the bedroom – our bedroom for a while.'

Spencer's throat made a dry click as he swallowed. 'And now you have to leave. Whatever there was between us should never have been and will never be again. I don't want or need you in my life.'

'Who have you been fucking?' Floyd's voice hissed over Spencer's ear.

'N, n, no one! And stop that!' Spencer slapped away the hand working experienced fingers over his belt buckle.

Floyd slipped the tips of his fingers over the front of Reid's waistband. 'Then why do you have lube and condoms in our bedside drawer? Who've you been having over here? Oh Spence babe, don't tell me you pick up boys at clubs still do you? Surely you've outgrown that filth. And so that beggars the question babes… who is the lube for? Because it's certainly not for me now is it? Have I ever gotten you any lube… no sweet thing I've not, so who's it for?'

Spencer moved away quickly and tried to do his buttons up again. He paced around the coffee table tripping on half filled bowls of meat of unknown origin, but he didn't get within touching range of Floyd. 'My private life is exactly what it is… private, and I have no wish to discuss it with an old boyfriend who walked out one night and never returned.'

'Boyfriend? Is that all you thought of me as? I thought we were lovers. I thought you couldn't get enough of me. I thought you were so deeply in love with me that…'

'Stop it!' Spencer raised his voice. 'You know what you were. You are fully aware of your place in my life. I don't want you back there again. I don't want you in my life. I don't want to be surrounded by your jealousy and hate. I don't want to spend my life scared that I'll say the wrong thing. I don't want _you_. Do you understand? Yes I have friends. I have friends I bring home sometimes but that's nothing to do with you. So please explain why you are here or get out.'

Floyd slipped off his heavy coat which for Spencer wasn't a good sign. It meant that Floyd had no intention of leaving just yet. It also had the unfortunate side effect of showing Spencer that the body under the coat was the same delicious body which he'd loved and caressed. He knew that he still knew every lump and bump of that body, that he knew every mark and scar and where they'd come from. Spencer was staring. He was aware that he was staring but couldn't help himself. He was slowly and carefully undressing Floyd with his eyes. Floyd was fully aware of this too.

'I would like you to leave.' Spencer whispered. 'I have a new life now and it happens to be a life I like. I don't want you to be a part of it anymore.'

Floyd nodded as though understanding what was being said. He looked around the lounge and then looked directly into Spencer's eyes. 'Who pays the rent on this shit hole?' He asked Reid.

'All the paperwork is in my name.' Spencer started to back away towards the door.

'Wasn't what I asked though was it babes? Who pays the rent?'

'I tried to stop the payments. I wanted it stopped. I couldn't.'

'So who pays the rent on this place Spence?' Floyd pursued a quickly retreating Reid. 'Did it not occur to you that if I was still paying the fucking rent that I'd be back? Didn't that cross your sorry confused pathetic excuse for a mind?'

'For a while it did.' Spencer's back hit the small hallway table knocking over an empty vase which fell with a crash to the floor.

Floyd looked at the coloured shards of pottery on the floor for a second and then back to Spencer again. 'So where the fuck, my darling love – are all my damned things? My books, clothes, bits of carved bone, toys? Surely if you're accepting my money to live here you cant possibly have got rid of my things? You'd not do that would you sweets? Not get rid of my hand stitched shirts and my carefully chosen _things_?'

Spencer's eyes flicked to the hall way cupboard. 'I…'

'Not to some fucking charity I hope.' Floyd's eyes followed where Spencer's had glanced to.

'I packed things away. I didn't want to see them every day. You were gone! I didn't know where you were. For all I knew you were dead somewhere. Where have you been?'

Floyd smirked at Spencer and leaned a shoulder on the wall as he looked at the clothes Reid had on. 'I got called away. I've been - _somewhere_… I couldn't get a message… didn't I say that already? So you take my money like the whore you are but you don't want anything here to remind you of me? Come here? Let me show you something.' Floyd put out a hand to Spencer who in turn sighed and shook his head. Floyd crossed the small passageway and pushed open the bedroom door. 'Just look. Tell me what you see in there.'

'I know what's in my bedroom.' Spencer snapped.

'MY! My bedroom… not yours. Remember who pays for it. Remember who got that bed with the carved headboard. I think if you really wrack your brains Spence you'll remember that it was me. So you get rid of my little personal things but you like to be fucked in my bed?

Spencer took a step towards Floyd, his shoe crunched on the broken vase and scratched at the wooden floor. 'No one fucked me in that bed, as you so crassly put it!' Spencer's voice was raised now in anger. 'Someone has though made love to me. If you consider that to be a problem then please take the bed and go!'

'Love?' Floyd snorted the word out at Spencer. 'You fucking idiot! No one loves you. No one has ever loved you. They all abandon you. Cant you see that? Are you so stupid that you've not realised that people hate being around you? That you drive them away with your pathetic whining and rambling conversations which no one is even slightly interested in. Haven't you noticed how everyone in your life who you've ever gotten close to eventually leaves you? Get me a pen and paper, I'll write a list for you. Who do we start with? Your childhood friends? Your father? Your mother? Fucking Gideon? That whore JJ? Those who've not run off or killed themselves have distanced themselves from you. Where are you now Spencer? Where are you? Look around and tell me where the hell you are right this minute.'

Spencer thought for one horrible moment that the smoke was going to make his eyes water again. He took a deep shuddering breath and glanced around the gloomy hallway. 'At home.' He stated.

'And do you know the date? What is special about today?'

'Christmas eve.' Spencer whispered.

'And you are at home once again alone. Did you tell everyone that you had a date? That's your usual excuse. Well it's not just an excuse this time… you didn't know that of course, but look… here I am! Go get changed and I'll take you out for a drink. Or we can stay here and eat. I've cooked. I've cooked your favourite.'

'Chilli isn't and never was my favourite. You just have to make that to disguise the taste of the meat you've used.' Spencer now looked towards the kitchen. 'Floyd?'

'Well yes… You may well _Floyd_ me but you've eaten it in the past. You'll eat it again. You might be busy over the new year with a case though. I'd say I was sorry about that, but really I'm not. Now I've had a few very long boring days and nights here alone and I want comfort and company. Are you going to provide or am I going to have to beat you until you give in and remember that you want me?'

**A/N: Any point in continuing? Let me know. Pb xox**


	2. Chapter 2

2

Words Sucked From Spencer's Head.

It's not that I'm weak. It's not that at all. I'm not. At least I don't think I am, but it's not so easy to just Throw Him Out Of The House. As he's pointed out already he pays the rent and if this was to go to court (which is a ridiculous concept and would in actuality never occur) it would show that I've been happily living rent free for goodness only knows how long! For as long as Floyd has been arranging to pay the rent from his seemingly bottomless pit of money he has. I would be unable to prove in any way that an amount of money has been transferred or indeed just withdrawn to match the amount of rent which is paid for this place. Granted it's not as though I live in a mansion, it's a one bedroom apartment in a very old block, but this would actually be where I'd choose to live anyway. I'm on the top floor and the floors are served by an old rattling elevator which I don't very often use. Not that I'm afraid of it, but since the damage to my leg I've noted oddly how much fitter I've become. Others have noted it too and it would seem a shame to let that go just through pure laziness now wouldn't it? It's only five floors to walk up – and run down again. I have used that elevator when I'm running late or if I am just so tired I can hardly move my feet and today was one of those days. It's cold outside. The snow has been falling for a couple of days and work has been – not stressful I'd not say – more boring. Filling in forms… form after form and I'm sure I'd filling in some of them more than once.

Not that I mind occasionally, but today… today it wore me down and so coming home for my Christmas which I had planned on spending alone I took the elevator.

Had I taken the stairs I would have smelt his smell. I would have been alerted by cheroot butts on the stairs. I would have had time to turn around and go find where my colleagues are sitting down having a drink. But then I couldn't have avoided this forever could I? Eventually I would have had to come home and I would have unlocked my door and all that's happened since would have happened anyway.

I don't hate him.

I wish I could say I did, but something always holds me back. I don't know if it's just the way I believe what he tells me, or if it's more…

Damn… It's a relief I think. That's the only way I can really define how I am feeling.

Relief… He's back.

I wont have to make decisions about my life anymore. I wont have to struggle with the mundane because Floyd will sort it. I just have to concern myself about my work and obviously I have to keep _him_ happy and right now… well I'm not sure I am. I've pulled out the box I stored his things in and he's kneeling on the floor with that long dirty hair of his sweeping down the side of his face like dirty black drapes… his dark, almost too dark, eyes keep flicking up to check that I'm still there. He seems almost as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I kneel the other side of the box and pull open the top and I think that I want to get away now.

I had forgotten.

How could I have forgotten?

Words Out Of The Mind Of Floyd Flanders.

Well I would love to say that it's nice to be back here again but it's not. _He_'s changed. Not just his appearance but his attitude and moreover his _smell_.

Spencer smells wrong. Or have I just forgotten? I've been with _others_ for too long smelling their individual smells and tasting their sweat and Spencer suddenly doesn't quite have that pull that he once had. Maybe it's those fucking trousers he's got on. He's dressed like an old man trying to look young. I'm not sure if that makes sense. Spence has gotten older. His smell isn't as sweet. His sweat doesn't taste as good as it did. Perhaps I was expecting too much. It could be that memories are sometimes better than the reality of it?

Anyway.

Here I am kneeling in front of a box he's dragged out of the cupboard. He claims that he vac wrapped my clothing.

How am I meant to feel about that? Don't you do that to things you don't expect to ever use or want to see again? My thoughts that he'd spent his evenings with his face crushed against the fabric of my shirts are shattered. I'll not be able to slap him for getting snot and tears and other bodily fluids over my clothing.

Was this meant to please me? Was this attitude that I am so disposable meant to make me happy?

There is a swell of something which might be anger and might be some other emotion which I'm not so sure about filling my head. I can feel sweat trickling down my forehead and my shirt is sticking to my back.

There on the top of the things in the box are a scattering of items which weren't mine. They were his. They were things I'd given him or things he'd collected but remind him of me. A mug shot! Oh joy. He's packed away a beautiful mug shot of me. I have my number printed along the bottom, but apart from that it's an OK snap. Maybe he didn't need to see it all the time to remember what I look like? I'll try to believe that, but he's blinking at me. Blinking too much. He's panicked about something. I can tell by those quick shallow breaths he's taking. I can tell by that dampness just under his eyes and the way he's attempting to not cry… poor fucking baby… he's crying. Should I reach out and reassure him that all is going to be fine?

No.

I don't think I will. Let him sweat it out… the mother fucker.

There's an envelope with _my_ name written over the front in Spencer's slightly childlike hand writing. So I run my finger over that pale blue envelope and I screw my eyes into his and try to pull out of his head what he's thinking.

I cant though. Whatever else he's forgotten, he's _not_ forgotten how to block me. I doubt he even knows he's doing it, but his barriers are up.

The envelope goes into my waistcoat pocket. I shall read it later. He has gone from that stupid blinking to his lip licking now. He's going to go get some lip balm before the hour is out. There's some in the drawer by the bed. Though I don't know if that's been used for lips or arse. Not that it matters really.

There is a small twist of my hair. It's secured by a thin thread of silver coloured wire and formed into a loop. I pick it up and wave it under Spencer's nose and he flinches back from me. I don't ask why he has that. I don't ask why he has something like that which he then hid away.

There is a belt. This I know. This item is Spencer's personal belt. I know. I made it for him. Finest leather and a beautiful embossed buckle. I have one much the same, but my buckle has the word "BITCH" inscribed on it. Spencer's says "WHORE". I run the leather through my fingers. I remove one of my fingerless gloves so that I can feel it better. It should be cared for. It should be oiled and loved and worn, but he's hidden this item. I look up and frown at Spence who is frowning back and licking his lips and looking like he knows full well what he's done wrong.

If he wanted to try to hurt any feelings I might have hidden inside – deep down inside – then he's going the right way about it.

Sex toys. There's a good few of those and maybe he likes to use new on each of his fucks? I don't know, but in a way I'm glad he's not been playing with these.

A small hand carved (by me) wooden box. Inside are small bits of bone which are also beautifully (if I may say so myself) carved bits of bone. Rib bone mostly, and a small collection of teeth. I like teeth. I like to use them and hide them away inside the dolls I make.

Dolls. There are three of them. They've been wrapped carefully. He's taken care of them. One of them I pick up and rattle. It's only about seven inches tall, but the head is full… (not the mouth but the actual head) of teeth. It clatters and makes a good sound. I almost forget what's going on here and smile at it, but I don't. I manage a smirk and I wave this under Spencer's very pale looking face.

My clothes are at the very bottom and as he told me they are carefully sealed and packed away. Good or Bad? I've Not Decided Yet.

A book lies on top of them though. I pick up The Book And I Look At It and Then I Show It To Spencer… Is he shaking?

The Letter

It sits secure in Floyd's pocket. The book lays open on the first page on the coffee table which Floyd has cleared via his forearm and demanded that Spencer takes a seat.

'I can understand you hiding the belt. I suppose.' Floyd is saying. 'But that book?'

Spencer is looking at that open book and the words written on the page there. 'It's not… It's… it's not how…' He trails off as his mind attempts to think up a reasonable excuse other than the truth. 'I just… it's.' He starts and then stops again. Floyd sits looking at Spence waiting for him. 'Floyd.'

Floyd leans forward slightly and the paper from the letter crackles in his pocket. 'Spencer.' He says in reply.

'I don't…'

'Can I suggest that you go get me a drink and whilst pouring it you sort out the fucking words in your head. I had totally forgotten how fucking annoying your inability to say a full sentence is. You only seen to be able to talk if you're reciting something. Go learn your lines then come back and explain why you would hide away a book which not only cost me thousands of your fucking dollars but a few lives too. I then wrote words of endearment upon it for you so you'd always know exactly how much I feel for you.' He pulls the letter from his pocket. 'Do words in here reflect back your love for me?'

Spencer says nothing but stands and walks to the small drinks cabinet. He has to step over bowls of mouldering food and tipped over coffee mugs. He stands possibly for too long with a tumbler in his hand trying to think what it is he needs to say to Floyd to appease him. Spencer runs fingers over his own face trying to think how it's going to feel tomorrow when Floyd's been battering away at it. He turns and looks at Floyd.

'Partially to protect it.' He lies.

'Well I thought you'd come up with something better than that Babes.'

Spencer picks a coaster up off the floor and places it on the table. He puts down the tumbler and shows Floyd his palms. It's how he seemed to always show absolute defeat when trying to reason with this man.

'I just put away everything. Not at first obviously and it was gradual.'

_I will be with you always… never forget… fff – _That's what he can see scrawled over the page. But it was a lie and that lie hurt Spencer back when he took the book from the shelf. After Floyd had been gone for months, after all the mess… after the last of the bruises had faded and the broken toe which he'd had to keep secret from Hotch had healed, after all the crap and all of the abuse… it was then that Spencer had read those words and they made him feel sick. And it was then that he'd written that letter which Floyd was now slowly turning over and over in his hands.

'You lied to me!'

The words were out of Spencer's mouth before he could stop them. He knew that he sounded like a brat and a spoiled child, but that was how Floyd was making him feel right now.

'Those words…' Spencer jabbed at the page.

'Lies?' Floyd pulls a cheroot out of his pocket and lights up using his slim silver lighter _click click click_. The flame gets close to the corner of the envelope and then is snatched away again. 'How is it lies?' Floyd blows smoke in Spencer's face. 'Explain the lies babes, cos I don't see what you mean.' Spencer opens his mouth to talk but Floyd cuts him off again 'Wait, before another word is uttered from your mouth…' He takes the tumbler off the table and sips at the liquid. '…go find a fucking hat. I feel like I'm sitting here talking to the biggest tit on the planet and you know how I feel about tits.' Floyd gives a small side smile to go with the questioning raised eyebrow. 'Hurry.' Floyd sighs and leans back again with the envelope now sitting on the coffee table.

Spencer went to the bedroom without arguing with Floyd. He pulled out a knitted hat and pulled it on over his short hair. He then sat on the bed, pulled open the bedside drawer and pulled out a stick of lip balm. He used some and then replaced the lid and popped it in his pocket. The holiday season… Everyone busy… He wasn't expected in to work until the new year. Hotch, Prentiss and Morgan had all suggested that they thought Spencer was going to see his mother for the break. He wasn't. Garcia probably knew better. She'd not mentioned his mother to him and he'd not discussed it with Garcia and he assumed that they agreed silently that he was going to be spending the holiday in the city here and not in Vegas. Beside the point really, what was bothering Spencer was that no one was going to miss him. Not a soul. No one. Anything could happen and he'd not be missed for a week. He shuddered and used the lip balm again. He then took off the dark grey jacket he had on and placed it over the back of a chair. He pulled out an old blue and white checked shirt and changed into that from the white work shirt he was wearing. He also put on an old slightly worn pair of black cords. He was procrastinating. He was doing quite a good job of it too. He was dreading Floyd opening that letter. Slowly he inched his way back to the lounge. Floyd hadn't moved. He was still sitting exactly as Spencer had left him, except that there was a scattering of cigarette ash down his front now. The letter was on the couch though. Oh he'd picked it up but Spencer thought he'd not opened it yet.

'Hats are good.' Floyd told him and gestured at the table again. 'Have you thought?'

'I've spent every day since you left in thought. Where have you been? I know you couldn't get a message to me, but you're here now cant you explain what happened?'

Floyd chugged back some more alcohol. 'You've changed clothes. Much better. I like that better.' Floyd moved forwards and placed the glass on the coaster and a hand on Spencer's knee. 'I was called away. I had work I had to do. I still have to do… so much fucking work Spence you'd not believe it. I don't get much time off and when I do I'm usually taking that time to heal up again. Dangerous work I'm in. But you understand that don't you? I sometimes just have to be alone. Or me and a boy. You know what I mean?'

Spencer said nothing. Oh he understood all right. Floyd had been off playing around and now was back and expected things to carry on as they were. Now Spencer's only problem was preventing that from happening. He scratched at his neck but still said nothing to Floyd.

'I guess you don't understand. It's like working under cover. You get that don't you?' Spencer nodded. 'Well fucking hurrah! I've been working under cover Spence. I couldn't get back nor could I risk coming to see you.'

'Under cover? Who for?' Spencer placed one of his hands over Floyd's.

For Floyd this was a good start… '_Them_.' He gestured around himself. 'You know…'

Reid didn't know. Because the only _them_ that Spencer knew belonged in the realm of nightmares and he didn't want to be dragged back to that place again but he muttered. 'OK.' To Floyd.

'Now this.' Floyd plucked up the letter and waved it at Spencer. Immediately Reid's hand left the temporary comfort it had felt feeling Floyd's hand under his. 'The question is – should I read it? Is it still relevant?' As an answer Reid applied more lip balm. 'I know you don't _want_ me to read it and I don't want to read it if it's going to piss me off, but I have a feeling that they are words from your Heart… and that in that case I should read it. What say you Doctor Reid… should I read it or not?'

Spencer wrung his fingers together making his knuckles pop. 'I cant stop you, but yes they meant more when I wrote them. They are not relevant now.'

Floyd pulled open the flap which had been sealed with a self adhesive strip. 'Spencer. Go make some coffee will you? I think I should be alone for this. The words were written alone they should be read alone.'

'I didn't really mean for you to ever read it.' Spencer stood.

Floyd pulled a single sheet of paper out of the envelope and waved it at Reid. 'Then you should never have written the fucking thing should you Spence? Black with some of that golden sugar you have in the cupboard. Thanks Spence babes… you really are the best.' Reid quickly turned and walked from the room. At least in the kitchen there were knives he could use to defend himself with if Floyd came rushing with his hands in fists.

For about a minute Spencer just stood in the kitchen doorway looking in. He'd expected it to be a mess like his lounge but it was scrubbed spotless. Not that it would have usually taken too much to get it looking that way as he rarely cooked anything in there, but Floyd had cooked. He could smell the rich spicy smells wafting over to him. There was a big pan on the stove with a large wooden spoon sticking out of it and a sparkly new coffee machine on the counter. Everything was gleaming and there was under the smell of the onions and garlic and other things a faint smell of cleaning fluids. Spencer almost smiled at the thought of Floyd arriving and finding dust in his kitchen.

The coffee was _not_ where he kept it. Floyd had moved everything in the cupboards. There was not a thing in the place Spencer had so carefully chosen for everything. They were all back how Floyd liked them to be. Not really a problem he could remember where Floyd insisted things were kept and somehow it was a comfort to open the wrong cupboard and find the right things. He started up the coffee machine after puzzling over it for a short while and then just stood staring at the counter. There was a small box wrapped in Christmas paper sitting next to the mug tree. He didn't touch it, but he could see the label with his name scrawled over it in Floyd's fancy but somehow scruffy writing. The paper was red and green. The box about four inches square. He was still standing there looking at it when Floyd suddenly pressed himself against Spencer's back.

'Well that's for tomorrow.' He said into Spencer's ear. 'But I thought you needed the new coffee machine for today.'

Reid wanted to thank him, but all thoughts were abruptly whisked away as hands wrapped around him and started undoing his buttons again.

'I didn't get you anything. I wasn't expecting you.' His voice sounded stupid to him. Like a child making up excuses for not handing in his homework on time.

'I've got you. I don't need anything else. Well except for a good mug of coffee. The stuff they have where I've been is not what you'd call _good_. Actually it's not what you'd call _coffee_.'

Spencer placed his hands over Floyd's; not really to stop him but more to make sure that they were real. One of Floyd's hands still had a ratty fingerless glove on it. Spencer slowly pealed the glove off and laid it on the counter next to the small box. He was waiting for Floyd to say something about the letter, but that wasn't what Floyd wanted to talk about.

'Are you clean?' A tongue swiped over Spencer's ear.

Slowly Reid turned so he was facing Floyd. 'I need a bath.'

'I meant clean. Do you get yourself checked? You're not taking anything? You're _clean_?' Now Floyd's mouth was breathing into Spencer's slightly open one.

'OH!' Reid's eyes went wide. 'No drugs… no. And yes I get myself checked at the clinic. I'm clean. I'm careful.'

Floyd nodded and stepped back slightly. 'So you ask for a certificate or evidence before you let someone fuck you?'

Though the wording was crass and base Spencer felt a small rush of something… Floyd cared? Was that it? Did this monster of a person who tried to ruin his life actually care? 'I'm careful.' Spencer repeated. 'Are you?'

There was a small sound which Reid thought might have been a laugh from Floyd. Floyd moved back and grinned. 'Go have a shower. I want to watch you wash. I want to look at you as you get all hot and soapy. You may remove the hat and try to do something with that damned hair of yours and please Babes, no more of that crappy hair mousse or whatever the fuck it is you have in your hair attempting to make you look like some old fart.'

'Are _you_ clean? You say you spend time with a _boy_.' Spencer picked up the mug of coffee he'd poured for Floyd and handed it to him. 'It's hot.' He cautioned.

'Well _boy_ as in not _girl_. I've had arse if that's your question and it was a male, and maybe he was underage, but not by much and not actually… much older than he looked and very nice too. Was he clean? Yes… he was… Oh… and don't look so worried I've not killed him. I love him. Don't look at me like that! I don't fuck kids, you know that.'

'About the only thing I am sure about you.' Spencer started to walk from the kitchen, pulling the hat from his head and throwing it down next to the glove he'd taken from Floyd. 'You are unbelievable. You really are. I thought…' Floyd cut him off.

'…thought? Wait… don't fucking walk away from me! Don't you put your sodding back to me when we are having a conversation. You asked and I answered your fucking question.'

'You read my letter!' Spencer virtually screamed at Floyd, as he still walked away.

'No I fucking didn't! I burnt it. Go look. I didn't see the point in reading words you'd written either in grief…'

Reid was at the bathroom door. He spun around and faced Floyd. 'Grief? You should have read it. I can recite it to you if you want. Damn you Flanders! You arrive uninvited, you act all offended that I've packed your things away and then you tell me you love someone else? Get the hell out of my apartment. Stop paying my rent. Let me move on as you so obviously have.'

Floyd was on him in a flash. Another thing which Spencer had forgotten about. That blinding speed which Floyd could move at. A hand pressed against Spencer's chest. 'Don't you fucking _ever_ talk to me like that again! You hear me? Have you forgotten who I am and what you are? Have you? Answer me dickweed!'

'Get your hand off me!' Spencer stepped to the side and into the bathroom. 'Leave me!'

'Or what? Or what Spencer? You going to make me leave? You going to force me? What will you do? Hit me? Use your newly found fucking muscles to fight me?'

The bathroom door slammed in Floyd's face.


	3. Chapter 3

3

A Shower.

Floyd stood looking at the door which had closed so suddenly in his face. He raised his eyebrows at the white door and looked at the brass handle and let out a long sigh. This wasn't going the way he had expected it to. Foolishly he'd thought he'd be welcomed with open arms and zipper, but that hadn't happened. Nothing was quite working out the way he'd expected it to.

'Spence?' He whispered at the door. He knew Reid couldn't hear him. He could hear the shower running. That in it self was a good sign though – maybe – he was going to shower and not soak. At least he was doing one thing which Floyd demanded. Again he looked at the door handle. There was no lock on the bathroom door. Floyd had long ago broken it and he'd noted that Spencer hadn't repaired it since he'd been gone. He placed both hands on the door and then rested his forehead on the cool wood. 'Spence?' Slightly louder this time, but he was under no illusion that Reid would come and open the door for him. He gave Spencer five minutes to get out of his clothes and get the water to the right temperature and then his hand drifted to the door handle and with a twist and a push he was in the steamy room. He entered and closed the door behind him. 'Spence.' Again but not a question this time. 'I've missed you.' Oh… sort of an apology but _not_ quite. Reid was standing there with a towel held in front of him as though suddenly ashamed of his body… or shy maybe? Floyd didn't approach him. He stood leaning on the door just looking.

'I thought I told you to leave.' Spencer snapped at Floyd. 'I don't want you watching me. It makes me feel uncomfortable.'

Floyd closed his eyes and sighed. 'It never used to. You'll get used to it again. Wash. Get all soapy for me.'

Spencer threw the towel at Floyd and stepped into the shower. He knew that there was no point in arguing this. Floyd wanted to watch Spencer wash. Floyd would watch Spencer wash. Reid could do it and try to forget that there was someone watching him, or he could resist it and end up washing blood out of his hair as he curled up on the shower tray begging Floyd to stop hitting him. Self preservation forced Spencer to do what was requested.

Floyd stood and watched Spencer tip his head back and let the water fall on his face. He had his back to Floyd which made Floyd's blood rush and made him slide down the door to a crouch. He watched Spencer soap his hair and rinse it off again. He watched hands washing where he couldn't see. Floyd wanted to ask Spencer to turn around but he couldn't talk. He couldn't move except to lightly rub his own hand over the front of his jeans which forced a slight groan to come out of him. Spencer didn't take his time. He was quick. Much too quick – but as he turned to face Floyd, Floyd held out the towel for him.

'Can I dry you?'

'Why don't you go and watch the _boy_ have a shower and dry him?' Spencer snapped back at Floyd.

Floyd stood but still didn't move from the door. 'I didn't come here to fight with you. I came to…'

Spencer was shaking his head. Droplets of water sprayed across the room. 'You declared love for someone else. All of this – this nonsense from you is just one of your little games and I'm not fooling for it. What happened? Did he turn you away too? Is that why you're here? Has he had enough of your manipulating bullish ways?' Spencer wrapped the towel tightly around him self and walked to the bathroom mirror. 'I suppose you want me to shave too?'

Floyd took a step away from the door. 'Babes…'

'Don't call me that!' Spencer opened the cabinet so hard that Floyd winced thinking it was going to come off the hinges.

'Fine. Spencer. I would love to shave you. If you'd allow me to.' He pulled a small razor type knife out of the side of his boot.

'You are of course joking. You're not putting that thing near me. Please… wait outside.'

Floyd flashed the blade at Spencer. 'You're going to shave…'

'Everywhere necessary for _you_. Get out. Clean up the lounge at least if you refuse to leave and then I want to know why you're really here and why you're not with the boy you love.' Spencer pulled out a razor and closed the cabinet door with a bit more, but not much, care than he'd opened it.

Floyd opened the door again and stood there looking at Spencer preparing to have a shave. 'You've made me feel hungry.' He smirked. 'I'll get me some food and have a nibble while you make yourself as beautiful as that stupid haircut can make you.' He closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen to heat up some chilli.

Discussions on Life and Love.

Spencer sat with a mug of hot coffee in his hands and his bathrobe on. He curled up in his big leather chair and looked around the room which Floyd had miraculously cleared up. At least partially cleared up. There was still mess all over the rug and broken pottery in the hallway. There was still ash from Floyd's cheroots on about every surface, but it was clear of dirty bowls, plates, mugs, glasses and cutlery. Floyd was still in his grubby jeans, a dirty white collarless shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and a very dark red double breasted waistcoat which looked like it had come from a museum – and probably had. There were many questions Spencer needed to ask and many which he didn't think he either wanted or would get an answer to. The first and to Spencer the most important one concerned not this _boy_ Floyd had mentioned but the knife he was carrying stuffed down the side of his boot.

'You never carry weapons.' Spencer said. 'Why do you have a knife? What's happened?'

Floyd gave a small shrug. 'Nothing's happened as such. It's not a weapon either. I like to carve things… it's a tool. I've never drawn blood with it Spence. It's not for that.'

'Tell me then…' Now onto the next question. '…about the boy.'

Floyd again shrugged. 'You know him. Don't give me that look of yours. You know him is all. He's not a client of yours.'

Spencer uncurled from the couch slowly and stretched. 'Client? What do you think I am Floyd?'

'A whore. But that's not a problem. I always knew you'd fuck for cash. It's one of your more endearing traits.' Floyd flicked ash onto the floor.

Spencer found that he was curling up again. It was defensive. His arms were suddenly wrapped around his own chest. 'I don't whore and I've never…'

'Yes you have…'

'…_never_ been a whore. You're mistaking me for one of you many delusions. Who is the boy?'

'Sam… but that's not what I'm here to talk about.'

Spencer was now on his feet and this time he managed it without uncurling first. He bounced right to his feet and his coffee slopped onto the floor. 'Sam?' Spencer put out a hand to demonstrate a height… 'Sam?' He repeated. 'Sam is a child! Your child! He's your son!'

'You're making a mess on the floor and a ridiculous fuss about nothing. Sam's not my son and he's a damned sight taller than that. Didn't I tell you I don't fuck kids? – we can add midgets to that list… He's as tall as I am. He's a fully grown adult, but yes probably that Sam who was once that tall, then we were nearly all that tall once if we are now taller. Except me of course, I've never been a kid so I've never been that tall.'

Spencer looked at the floor and slammed his mug down on the table, again slopping coffee and not using a coaster. He could see the irritation on Floyd's face and ignored it. 'So you come _home_ for Christmas, bringing me gifts which I never asked for and want things to be as you'd left them, but you also declare your love for some freak child who's suddenly in your mind an adult? And you expect me to understand?'

'I don't expect you to necessarily understand.' Floyd moved Spencer's mug to a coaster. 'But yes, I suppose that's about it. I missed you Spence. I wanted your company. You should be happy that I'm here. I think I need to remind you why you were so fucked off when I left.'

'You have had sexual liaisons with a child, you have killed and prepared in my kitchen, you broke into my apartment, you…' Spencer turned to look down the passage way towards his kitchen. 'Please tell me that's not Sam you've cooked up.'

'It's steak. I got it from the market. The wrapper is in the bin. You can check if you want. I've not broken in as I pay the fucking _rent_ and I fucking well _live_ here. I have a damned fucking key! So no I've not broken in, I've not prepared cannibalistic food in your fucking precious kitchen – _my_ fucking precious kitchen I should say and I've not had and sexual liaisons with a fucking _child_! Let me tell you what I've done. Sit for fuck's sake or I'm going to jump you and you can add rape to your list of imaginary offences. I've been doing work for _them_. Occasionally I get a break and a few weeks to rest. During that time I've been doing little things like re-growing parts of my brain, or lungs… I was shot in the back Spence… very messy… I exploded once too. Equally messy and though then during the short periods of time afterwards I was not on actual active duty I was healing… surely even an idiot like you can understand that? Sam was there too. He's no longer a kid. You know how he can twist things – time… shit like that – Spencer you'd love him too.'

'I assure you that I wouldn't.'

'I know you think he's a freak and maybe he is but each year that passes that mind of his increases. The things he can do… he'd be an asset to the FBI twats you hang around with… he'd put them to shame with what he can do and…'

'Very unlikely.'

'You could talk to him for hours about all sorts of boring shit. He's into that too. Boring shit. He can talk about the sun and stars until you'll want to shoot your self in the ear just to shut him up.'

'Sounds delightful. I'm not interested in how great your lover is. And I still say he's a child.'

'Say what you want.' More ash flicked on the floor. 'He's a great fuck. Knows all the tricks… but then so do you. After all you both only know what I've shown you.' Floyd slid off the couch and knelt in front of Spencer who had just sat back down again. 'Let me remind you babes. He slid a hand over Spencer's bare knee. 'Just a quick reminder. I shouldn't have to fucking beg to give you a blow job, you should be begging me.'

'Get the hell out. Merry Christmas and I hope you rot in hell.' Spencer pushed Floyd's hands away.

Of course pushing him away was probably the last thing he should have done. Floyd just became all the more determined to shower Spencer with Christmas cheer. 'I'll go after you let me.' He said.

'You will… please don't… Floyd… _Floyd_! No! Stop!'

Floyd moved back to kneel upright but kept his hands warming under Spencer's bathrobe. Floyd knew that any resistance Spencer had been feeling was gone. 'Bedroom.' Floyd hissed. His hands gripped a hold of Spencer's skinny hips and started to pull him forwards off the chair. 'Bedroom or I'll have you here on the floor.' Another jerk forward and Spencer seemed to have lost the ability to do anything other than he was being told. He dropped to his backside onto the wooden floor and began an odd backwards crawl in the desired direction which was greatly hampered by Floyd who was also crawling forward with a leg either side of Spencer's and hands trying to both stop him from falling on his _victim_ and also trying to get Spencer's bathrobe belt unknotted and at the same time lick every part of the body he was managing to reveal. For his part Spencer wasn't resisting in the slightest. He had one arm on the floor which was helping him to move back across the hard wood flooring and the other dragging at Floyd's hair, shirt, waistcoat, hair again, shoulder, neck… anything he could get that hand on and not fall back. 'Please.' Was muttered by both of them at some point on the slow awkward crawl to the bedroom and by the time Spencer's head smacked onto the bedroom door his belt was undone and Floyd was struggling with his own belt.

They didn't use lube. They didn't use condoms. Spencer screamed and clawed at the bedding whilst Floyd howled and clawed at Spencer's back, biting, licking, nibbling, sucking at Spencer's flesh. It seemed to Floyd that time went so fast that he could hardly believe that he was shuddering and crying out already. He lay there on Spencer's back telling him in heavy deep breaths what a fantastic fuck he was and what a well practiced whore he was and then rolled off, moved Spence to his back and finished him off with his mouth. It only took a couple of licks and Spencer was spent and shuddering on the bed. 'You're bleeding.' Floyd let him know. 'Tissues?'

Spencer muttered something about 'Under the bed.' Which gave Floyd an excuse to further lick and nibble on _his_ Spencer as he reached for them. 'Dear god.' Spencer groaned as Floyd began a mouth to mouth inspection of teeth and tongue. The smell was back and now Floyd realised what had been wrong with it before. Spencer didn't have that undertone of blood to his smell. That was fixed now.

They curled up together. Floyd still with his clothes and boots on and Spencer just with his daft hair cut. His hair had dried into a bush of a mess on his head which Floyd was finding amusing now rather than annoying. He wrapped his arms around his Spencer and breathed in his smells and felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he fell into a deep spent sleep.

When Spencer awoke in the morning it was a with a slight shiver. He rolled to his back and reached out for the warm body which was next to him only to find nothing but cold emptiness. Reid knew he should have known better. Floyd had come back to mess with his head and take what he wanted. Though last night he had to admit that he didn't really put up that much of a resistance once things actually started. He groaned inwardly at his stupidity and pulled a blanket over his naked body.

'Hey sleepyhead.' A voice said from somewhere. Spencer opened his eyes again and now pushed up onto his elbows. Floyd was there hunkered down in front of the bedroom door. He had his coat on again and a ratty hat pulled over his head. Spencer slid off the bed bringing the blanket with him and knelt on the floor in front of Floyd. He could feel the icy cold coming off him in waves. Spencer reached out and put a hand on either side of Floyd's face.

'Where have you been? You're freezing.'

'I just had… you know? Things to do. I hurried back. Didn't want to go and not say _goodbye_.' He put his hands over Spencer's. He had his fingerless gloves on again and they felt wet. Reid took hold of Floyd's hands and pulled them under the blanket to try to warm them. 'No babes. It's just a quick farewell. I hope you like what I got you. You can open it when I've gone.' He paused as Reid rubbed at his wet hands trying to warm them for him. 'Don't.' He pulled them away and showed them to Spencer. His nails had something dark behind them and now looking properly at Floyd's hands he could see the smears of blood. Reid looked at his own hands and could see where the blood had transferred to his own. Slowly he shook his head. 'I said I'd go if you let me have you. I keep promises. You know that.'

'It wasn't a promise.' Spencer tried to reason. 'I'll unpack some of your clothes. Go wash. Spend the day here.'

Floyd shrugged. 'You wanted me gone.' He wrapped his arms around himself. 'Why the change of heart? No… no… I have to go. I never intended this to be a long stay, just a quick… a quick…' He trailed off not wanting to say _fuck_ and make what had happened last night cheap. 'My life is fucked up Spence.' Floyd rocked his head back against the bedroom door. 'Do you realise what shit you'd be in if they knew I was here? If they even thought I'd been here or trying to contact you? Have you any idea what that motherfucker Morgan would do? It'd not just be my end, but yours too babes.'

'No one needs know.' Spencer muttered. He knew how stupid that was. It was insane. Floyd had been out Christmas morning and had torn someone apart with his bare hands. He knew. Floyd didn't have to give him details for him to know what had been done. He could smell it on him. More than that he could smell it _in_ him. On his breath. 'When you left before I thought that my life was over. I thought I'd never be a real person again. I packed away your things because they hurt too much to look at every day. I didn't need them under my nose to remember you. I needed though for other people to believe that I'd moved on.' He smelt the vile stench of Floyd's breath as he sighed. 'But this is the odd thing, I've been expecting you back. Every day I've been expecting you back, hoping you'd be here, needing you at my side, directing me, moving me around as though I'm a piece on a chess board. I've been lost. So lost.'

'You don't need me Spence.' Floyd stood and pulled Spencer up with him. 'I'll ruin you.'

Spencer opened up the blanket and wrapped it around them both. 'You ruined me that first time we met.' He whispered back. 'And I might protest and tell you that I don't need you, but I'm just so _mad_ with you!'

Floyd carefully pushed Spencer away from him. 'I'm soaked… sodden. No one who will be missed. Some junky whore who probably would have died in the cold anyway.'

'I don't want or need to know.'

'But I need to tell you. If you want me to stay then you have to know. I cant be pretending I'm something I'm not anymore. I'm not the perfect boyfriend. I'm not a great lover. I'm greedy, selfish, spiteful, good looking maybe, but not so much when I'm blood soaked. I'll have a shower. Choose something nice for me to wear and I'll take you out for dinner.'

'I've a frozen turkey dinner in the freezer.' Spencer told him.

Floyd opened the bedroom door. 'No you don't. I ate it last week. Spence I booked us a table for two this afternoon. I'm taking you out for a date. Find something for me to put on now and choose something for later. For both of us.'

Spencer followed Floyd out of the bedroom. There were bloody fingerprints on the wall and on the bedroom door. 'Floyd.' He reached out and grabbed Floyd's back. 'I need a shower again too I think. I can show you where the soap is.' Spencer was aware that yesterday he was pushing the man away and telling him to go. He was aware that now he was begging him to stay even though he was probably going to get Spencer killed or at the very least put in prison for aiding and abetting a murderer. Yet there was nothing he could do to stop what he was doing. He could feel the prickle of tears beginning to form behind his eyes and now they were tears not of anger but of fear that this person was going to abandon him again. 'I can soap your back for you.' Spencer offered.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Words Ripped from Spencer's Head.

First I am undressing him with my eyes and now with my hands. He's shivering. This is all so strange. It's as though part of this person is no longer Floyd. He seems defeated. Maybe fragile? Whatever it is it's wrong. I peel his clothes away from him slowly. Yes I know he's been out in the cold and I know that the amount of blood covering him should alarm me and yes in a way it does, but there is cold comfort too in the knowledge that this blood isn't from Floyd (or me for that matter) and I shouldn't take comfort in that. I should be horrified. I should call someone. I should get help, but I cant. The skin under his dirty clothes isn't a whole lot or any cleaner that the filth adhering to his clothing. When did this man last wash? I ask him this, I ask him outright when he last showered and he gives me a shrug so slight that it's hardly noticeable. He tells me that when he was last here he had one.

He stinks. I thought it was the clothes but it's not. They somehow masked the stench coming from Floyd. I've met a lot of people during the course of my career and some of those people have been homeless, living on the streets, tramps, hobos… no one I've interviewed or questioned has had a smell quite as bad as this. It's almost like he's rotting. I swallow back bile which is crawling up my throat and I ask why he's not showered since he was last here and he informs me that to shower you have to take your clothes off and I've not been there to assist. I thought at first he was joking and tell him that he's probably changed his clothes since he was last here and he admits he has, but in stages. His dislike of stripping off isn't new to me, but this smell certainly is. I ask him why his friends haven't told him that he stinks and he smirks and makes that almost laugh sound and asks me what friends that would be. I don't want to mention _Sam_ but surely he must have said something.

Curiously I didn't think last night that he did smell. Last night I suppose my mind was on things other that the vile state of Floyd's skin. I'm sure he has lice though I'll not point that out to him. I have medicated and insecticidal shampoos which I collect and put on the small tray inside the shower. His skin is pale. Like a corpse pale. The creases in his skin and his elbows, around his neck, his wrists, knuckles, between fingers and toes, the back of his ankle, down his spine – these places have so much ground dirt that I can almost peel it away. I tell him to close his eyes and I shampoo his hair. It's long, well down to his shoulders. I want to get him to wash intimate places with this shampoo, but he laughs and asks why he'd need to do such a thing and when I explain to him – gently – I don't want to make him angry – that he has an infection of something commonly called _crabs_ he doesn't seem to care. He tells me that's fine. He tells me I cant catch it off him if I keep myself shaved.

So here we are standing naked in the shower. The bubbles have gone from the dark red they started with and then pink and now they are just normal clean and clear bubbles. I don't touch him and he doesn't touch me. We wash. That's what this was all about – getting clean – starting again maybe. I wish I knew where he's been and what's going on in his mind. He has scars I'm not familiar with one above his eye – it's like a dent, as though something punctured his face, he has marks on his arms where it looks as though he's taken a blade to his them – there's cuts and abrasions on his back and chest, upper legs, over his shoulders, and as I wash the dirt off his back I can see marks there too, small things, maybe they're old scratches… it's hard to tell, what I can tell though that wherever he's been he's not been living in comfort and he's not been enjoying himself.

So is it up to me to let my life be destroyed? Because that's what will happen if I let him stay.

I cant let him stay.

I cant let him go either.

I feel like screaming.

I wish he'd never come back.

I wish he'd never left.

I would die for him if he asked me to.

And one day I think he will.

Is that what he's back for? Is my life forfeit for some reason because of something he's done? I need to ask, but not today. Today we are going to go out for a meal. His treat.

I am so glad that this water is hot and that I have water and soap in my eyes. At least he cant see me crying.

Thoughts Torn Screaming from Floyd's Mind.

He complains about Every Fucking Thing. He doesn't like my Smell. He doesn't like my Hair… too long… What the Fuck? Well boy – I feel my lip curling slightly – BOY well Spencer you know what happens when your life becomes a bed of fucking roses don't you? Yes babes… Can I call you BABES if it's just in My Fucking HeaD? - (you get fucking scratched is what you get)

I cant remember what I was thinking. Right… he doesn't like My Hair. Well I don't Particularly Like His Hair Either. He…

Spencer.

Right so last night after I had him I Needed More. He was Sleeping and it seemed A Shame to go wake him UP just to break some of his Teeth. I went out. Some Junky Bitch Kid was selling his dick down a side street. I took that happily. I tore him open from navel to Heart. Sweet Heart Still beating as I Bit into it. So I got messy and I pretty much got off on it, and you probably think I'm some kind of mother fucking Bastard for doing this but there's only room on the Streets for So Many Whores and I only protect That Which Is Mine.

You understand that don't you?

I don't give a flying wank if you don't understand it. My Existence isn't for your fucking Entertainment. I came back didn't I? I was here when Spencer awoke. Yes the Bed was Cold, but I wanted to just sit there on the floor and Look at him. Fucking beautiful body he has.

If I had a camera or something I would snap shots of him _sleeping_ like that and post them online for everyone to gawp at. They would suddenly realise why I have to keep coming back to Spencer. Fuck the others… and yes I did… that was like a pun – the others sort of don't count for much. This is the one I keep coming back for and this is the one I've not been told to dispatch; at least not yet.

I want to sit and hear him read to me.

I want to sit and watch that red flush crawl over his face as he realises what he's reading. He reads and doesn't actually see or hear his own words. Graphic novels are much better… VERY Graphic Novels (18 Plus; Please Show Your ID) are even better.

I had no intention of staying. I didn't even know for sure when I left last night that I was coming back again. Something could have prevented that from happening. It wouldn't have taken much, but I'll not go into that gory subject for now… you want to know about Spencer don't you? You want to know how he's rubbing soap over my back and down my spine. You want to hear his whisperings in my ear telling me that I've lost weight. I have. I admit I've lost weight which is one of the reasons I wear my clothing layered, but Spencer's put on bulk. He's not fat… hell NO… I don't mean that. What I mean is he has muscles. He's not as narrow across the shoulders. He has a scar on his leg/knee. Tells me he was shot. I tell him that's what happens when you carry weapons, people shoot you. He tells me that I have a blade in my boot and I want to slap him, but that would mean turning around and facing him and by then the impulse would have gone and I rather like the feel of those Hands which are now washing my butt.

I have plans to take him on holiday. Will he come with me? Will he want to? Does he have a choice? I love holidays with my Spencer.

Oh my commitments. I have a job to do. I have someone who is sort of relying upon me. But he can wait. I'm sure he'll be just fine. No doubt I'll get dragged into some kind of a mess because of it but I want To Spend Some Time with Spencer. Is that such an evil thing to want?

Warm towels and hot coffee. Bliss.

Out in the Cold.

He was meant to meet up with someone last night. They had agreed but no one turned up and he was left wondering why he feels surprised. 'Fuck him.' Words are muttered from cracked sore wind burnt lips. 'Fuck him.' He repeated as he hammered on the door of some place he knew he could get warm food. The door is opened by a man who probably stood over six foot six… He has a red Christmas hat on and a grin which fades quickly when he sees who's been knocking.

'You've been told before.' Is all the man says as he starts to close the door.

'Please. Just for an hour? Some soup?' The voice is whiny and thin.

'You have to be clean and dry. You know that. Why do you keep coming back?' The man again goes to close the door.

'I am!'

A waft of alcohol drifts from the young man's mouth and up the nose of the person who should be there to help and is refusing to let him in. 'I smell whiskey on you and you're obviously on something. Go get straightened out. Come back when you are. This isn't the place for you. I've explained this over and over to you.' The door slams but the young man stays standing there with his arms crossed over his thin chest. Five minutes later the door opens again. It's the tall man sans hat this time. 'Here.' He pushes out towards the young man a plastic cup of chicken soup. 'And read this.' He folds up some bits of paper and stuffs it in they young man's pocket. 'Really read it this time. If you honestly want help…'

'You know how hard it is? You know? I just keep… I try! I really try but… I get… I just.' He stares down at the watery soup. 'I'm so fucking cold. I'm going to die. I was meant to meet my friend last night. He was going to give me money and shit but he didn't turn up. I could have gotten some fucking motel room for the week or something but he never turned up. He's too busy… found someone else.' He sipped at the soup. It was salty and stung at the sores at the corners of his mouth. 'Please?'

'My only advice to you is to stop relying on friends who constantly let you down. Go… I dunno… I don't know what to say.'

The young man nodded. 'Merry Christmas then.' He turned and walked away.

The tall man who worked at the shelter stood watching the young man leave. He didn't even know his name. He knew nothing about him except he turned up every now and then sometimes high and sometimes drunk and sometimes like today maybe a mix of both; occasionally he looks bruised and battered. He always asks to come in and is always turned away. One day he'll not come back and the man who works in the shelter will wonder if the young skinny dark haired young mess of a man sorted himself out or was found dead in a back street bin. He hoped he got sorted out. He also hoped that he showed up again tomorrow.

The young man threw the empty cup in the gutter and walked towards the police station. He had one option left if he was going to get somewhere to sleep and get dry and maybe even have something to eat. He already knew where he had to go first though and so he slipped down a side ally way and picked up a brick which had come from a small wall which had long fallen over. He then walked back out and towards the police station. There were a number of cars parked up outside waiting to rush away for an emergency on Christmas Morning. He walked to one and let the brick scrape along the side. He stood and looked at the main entrance and then lobbed the brick at the police car window. It shattered into a million tiny stars of glass. He was half in the car draped over the front with his arms inside trying to relocate his brick when someone started calling him a son of a bitch and was dragging him back out of the car and escorting him finally into the warm and dry. He was so happy with the wonderful way his plan had worked that tears fell and snot bubbled from his nose.

'Name?' He was asked.

Christmas Morning.

They wrapped themselves in bathrobes and sat happily for a while in the lounge. The small gift Floyd had brought with him sat on the coffee table still un-wrapped. There was gentle classical music playing and coffee sitting on coasters next to sticky pools of stuff not cleaned up from the night before. Floyd lit up a smoke and picked up the gift and passed it to Spencer.

'Open it.' He told him.

The shaking of Spencer's hands didn't go un-noticed but Floyd decided not to ask what was bothering Spencer. He'd only lie. Spencer seemed to spend his life telling lies to Floyd. At least that's how it felt this morning. Reid carefully removed the name tag and placed it on the arm of the chair. 'I'm sorry I didn't get you anything.' He said with a smile.

'No you're not.' Floyd replied. 'Just open the fucking thing and stop making excuses.'

The Christmas paper came away to reveal a blob of yellow tissue paper. Spencer cautiously removed it. It had been wrapped carefully around a small wooden box. The top had been carved with the letter "S". At first Spencer grinned at it and then he frowned. 'Did you make this?' He asked. Floyd nodded but said nothing. 'For me?'

'Who the fuck else? Open it.' Floyd was beginning to wish he'd not bothered now. He was tempted to snatch it away and give it to someone else. Someone how might even appreciate the hard work which went into making something like that. 'Open the fucking thing!' He snapped.

Spencer's hands were trembling all the more now. The box wasn't the gift. What was inside of it was and he wasn't completely sure that he wanted to know what it was. He wanted to shake the box to give him some kind of warning as to what was inside but then again he didn't want Floyd to get angry at his hesitance. He just inwardly prayed that it wasn't a body part; teeth, an eye, a fingertip… it really could be anything and he had to be prepared to be grateful for whatever it was. He took a deep breath and pulled off the lid. The inside of the box was lined with red velvet and sitting there on it was a silver ring. It really was the very last thing Spencer had been expecting. He let out a long breath which he now realised he'd been holding and rested the box on his knee as he lifted out the ring. It had been carved all around with tiny patterns. At first Spencer thought it was beautiful and then just very strange. 'A ring?' He questioned.

'No Spencer. It's not a ring. It's a fucking seventy foot pleasure cruiser.'

'Pardon?' Spencer turned it over on the palm of his hand. 'A what?'

'It's a ring. Fucking hell Spence! Put it on… Now… Not that hand… Not that fucking finger! Fuck.'

'I cant put it on that finger.' Spencer had it balanced on the tip of the third finger of his left hand.

Floyd stubbed out his smoke on the coffee table. 'Spencer I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm telling you to put the fucking ring on your damned finger before I stuff it up your un-grateful arse.'

'I'm not ungrateful Floyd! It's beautiful. Did you make it? He held it up closer to his face to see the patterns better. Also avoiding actually putting it on his finger. Somehow doing that felt like he was signing his soul away to something dark.

'I signed up for engraving classes. The first few I made were shit.' Floyd was watching Spencer carefully.

'You did what?'

'Yes Spencer… I made you a fucking ring! Does it matter?' Floyd stood and paced to the window. It was raining.

Reid stood too and held the ring tightly in his fist. 'You made this for me? Why?' He didn't mean _why_… he really didn't. This wasn't going well.

Floyd spun from the window and turned to look at Spencer. 'Why? Why? Why the fuck do you think? It's a fucking bonding ring… put it on. Just put the fucking thing on and stop asking so many damned questions.'

'Bonding ring?' Spencer opened his hand and looked at it again. 'Where did you get it? Bonding?' He didn't like the sound of this.

Floyd took a step forward. 'It's a Demonic Item. I made it in Hades to pull you to Me and keep you as Mine. It's a fucking Bonding Ring. Put the damned thing on. I put blood and sweat into making that. Usually they come easy but as you're not like me or S… or….' He gestured out of the window. '…him… then it wasn't so easy. Put the motherfucking thing on!'

Spencer stood with his mouth slightly open and the ring in his hand. It was feeling hot. He was sure that was his imagination but it didn't make him want to put it on. 'A bonding ring? What does it do?'

'Bonds!' Floyd howled at Spencer. 'Look the word up in a fucking dictionary! Wait… wait don't fucking bother… I'll tell you. Bond is a word which was first used in the early thirteen hundreds… it's been around a while. I thought you'd know what it means… it's something formed between a parent and a child, or between adults who've shared intense experiences. Which one suits better?'

Spencer slapped the ring down on the coffee table. 'I know what it _means_ I want to know what it _does_.'

Floyd rubbed at his temples with his fingertips and closed his eyes as he thought carefully how to say what he needed to say in a language which contained the words he wanted to use. 'Spencer… it's a ring. It has no magical properties. I made it because I thought I owed you… needed to show you that… I made it with my own hands for you. The ring and the box… for you. It has your fucking initial on it. On the ring too, on the inside. An S and an F… Spencer and Floyd…' Floyd sat down on the couch and groaned.

'S.' Spencer sighed. 'I appreciate the gesture but I cant possibly take it. I cant wear it to work. Questions… you know?'

'S.' Floyd sighed back. 'You're ashamed of what you are still? I thought you'd have come to terms with being a fag. Doesn't Derek know yet? Silly question… of course he doesn't. Sweet Derek. Hotch though – Oh Hotch he reminds me of a _friend_ of mine. I have a friend who likes to _watch_ what he cant have. How is dear Agent Aaron Hotchner? Spence, do you know what will happen if you don't put that damned thing on your finger now?'

Spencer slowly shook his head. He had a good idea that it would involve pain though.

'I've take it and I'll leave. I'll give it to _Sam_ who I know _will_ appreciate it because he appreciates all I do to, with, for him. So that's what'll happen. If you don't put it on I'll go. You'll never see me again. If that's what you want then I'll go. You're not the only fuck on the planet.'

And in the end that's all it took. Spencer slipped the ring onto his finger with a feeling in his heart that he'd done both he worst and best thing he could have done. 'I don't want… please… don't leave.'

Floyd moved over to Spencer and placed hands on his shoulders. 'Do you promise to love me and only me? Do you promise to stop whoring around? Do you promise to grow your fucking hair again? Even if I leave and I'm gone for a year or so do you promise to stay and wait? Forever if you have to?'

Spencer licked his lips. 'I don't want you to go.'

A shake of the head from Floyd. 'Not what I asked you babes. I need to know. I need to know if I'm taken again like before that you'll wait. I don't want to come back and find that box and ring hidden away and another man's sex toys and lube in my bedside drawer. I need to know you'll always wait for me.'

'Then please don't go!' Spencer knew how pathetic he was sounding. He knew what Floyd was doing. He knew he couldn't stop the ball now that it had started rolling.

'When I was here last time.' Floyd's fingertips dug into Spencer's shoulders. 'I left… you were at work… I went out for coffee. I was taken – lured would you believe. Somewhere out there in the bay is a rotting corpse. All that time you were wondering where I was, being angry with me, well I was pretty much dead. Now that's not something I can really avoid any more than you can. I can beg you never to go back to work. I can crawl behind you clutching at the hem of your pants begging you not to leave me but you will. Will you go back to work? My name will come up at some point – because it always fucking well does and you'll be standing there without my ring on your finger because you'll be too fucking scared to wear it. Spencer I'm talking in fucking circles, but what I'm trying to say is that I'll not leave unless I have to. I wont unless it is time and I need you to hand in your notice at work.'

There was deathly silence as Spencer went back over all he'd just been told. 'Lured?'

'Drugs… But they shot me in the face and took my cash.' Floyd pointed to the dent in his forehead. 'Here. Small hole at the front, but it took the back of my head off. You know how it is. Don't fucking cry.'

'I was so angry with you. So angry. I had no idea.'

'Told you… couldn't get a message to you. Couldn't do much at all. I had to wait until _they _came for me and they're not my best buddies. They kept me waiting. A long fucking time… then they let me heal up. And now here I am. I'm back and you're going to resign and I'm going to take you away from all of this shit and maybe… no… and yes… a holiday. Just the two… or three of us and…'

'I love my job Floyd.'

'I know you do, but you've got to stop thinking of what you want and start remembering that you accepted that ring and thus you do as you're fucking well told to do. I'll write the letter and you sign it. I'll post it tomorrow. How does that sound?'

'I don't want to resign!' Spencer tried to step away from Floyd but he was being held tightly in place.

'You have no fucking options! You…' and a shake. '…do - as – you – are – told… or I'm out of that door and showing my love to some fucking freak midget.'

**A/N: I don't have a beta and so all mistakes are mine. Thank you xox**


	5. Chapter 5

5

Dinner for Two

The restaurant was just around the corner, but they still got wet and very cold on the short walk. Floyd walked in front after giving Spencer strict instructions to keep behind him and at least five foot back and not more than ten.

'And I _will_ check so don't even think about running away.'

Though why Spencer would run away Floyd didn't really know. He just had a strange inkling that Spencer wasn't totally happy about what was going on here. He had made sweet passionate love to him the night before. He'd given him a Christmas gift (which was more than Spencer thought of doing for Floyd.) He'd made arrangements for them to go out and somewhere nice (a table by the window.) Yet still Spencer had that look on his face which made Floyd want to kick him in the balls and remind him of how shit things could suddenly get if he didn't show love and appreciation for what he had in life.

Somewhere there were church bells ringing. Somewhere there were children singing songs. Somewhere families gathered and laughed and were jolly damned happy. Somewhere else though Spencer was seething with deep anger. He didn't want to wear this ring on his finger. Close, very close inspection had revealed that the small patterns around the object appeared to be some kind of writing. He'd asked about this and was again told he was ungrateful. He was reminded that he'd had a shower for him. He was reminded that Spencer was the one who had failed to keep a candle lit for him. He was told that he didn't need to carry…

'Put the fucking gun away Spence before I show you a very interesting place to conceal it.'

At least Floyd had _actually_ booked a table and it wasn't just part of the delusion he seemed to live in. It was a small but expensive place and after coats were taken they were shown to a table just where Floyd had requested (demanded under threat when initially told it wasn't available.) The Maitre D – who had a split lip and a fading black eye led them to their place and asked what they'd like to drink. Spencer wanted mineral water and Floyd ordered them both a whiskey.

'I don't want alcohol.' Reid remarked.

'Don't be such a miserable arse Babes and have what I tell you. You seem to keep forgetting who I am.'

'Not possible to forget.' Spencer's eyes settled on the Maitre D.

There were "No Smoking" signs which obviously were ignored and though a couple of people took a couple of steps towards the two men sitting at the window no one actually said anything. No one thought that it was worth risking their jobs or even their lives to request that the psychopath put out his cheroot. A young woman with a frilly white pinafore produced a small glass ash tray though and gave both men a nervous smile and even oddly a small curtsy to Floyd.

Spencer would have liked the onion soup to start with, but Floyd insisted… very much insisted that Spencer had stuffed mushrooms. They were nice… he enjoyed them, but he would have preferred soup. Floyd had soup. He told Spencer how lovely it was. Floyd made a big deal about how nice it was in a voice which was a bit too loud. Reid wanted to ask Floyd to keep his voice down a bit, but didn't. It would look ungracious and he didn't want to look as though he didn't appreciate the food he had in front of him. Floyd drank too much. Floyd pulled a small twist of cellophane out of his pocket and put some grey powder on his thumbnail and snorted in front of the other people attempting to have fun on Christmas day. Floyd's voice got louder. The main meal was turkey with all of the trimmings. At least for Floyd it was. Spencer got boiled fish and mashed potatoes.

'I know how much you love fish.' Floyd told Spencer who looked down at his plate of pale food and felt sick.

'I like turkey too.' Spencer told him as he prodded the soggy fish with his fork. 'But yes I do like fish. Thank you.' He quickly added and slowly began to eat the disgusting tasteless muck on his plate. Voices around him began to get louder in a stupid attempt to drown out Floyd's continual babble of curse words and profanity.

'Well the fucking turkey is dry as priests arse. The vegetables are over cooked and…' He pushed his plate aside not even tasting one mouthful. '…your fucking buoyancy and happy demeanour has put me off my food. Waiter! More of this shit piss you call whiskey… Now!' And a hand in the air and a click of the fingers.

Spencer wanted to crawl under the table and hide from this. He had foolishly expected a nice quite meal. How could he have forgotten so quickly who and what Floyd was? He was sure he'd remembered fully when he'd come home only last night and found him sitting in his lounge. Yesterday night Spencer was only too aware of this loving caring attitude Floyd carried with him, so why did he forget again? Now his wish to be under the table altered to maybe hiding under someone else's table as Floyd's foot began kicking his shin – gently at first – and then when he got no reaction – harder.

'Stop it.' Spencer hissed in irritation. 'What's wrong with you? I'm doing everything you're asking me.'

Floyd stopped. At least for a minute. 'You're not smiling. Smile. Look happy for me.'

'It's not easy when you're kicking me under the table and shouting obscenities at everyone.' Spencer kept his voice low.

'I'm not fucking shouting! You snotty little up tight bastard!' Floyd shouted.

Spencer leaned across the table and wiped some grey powder off the end of Floyd's nose. 'You're high, drunk and obnoxious. I'll get up and leave if you don't calm down.' Spencer went to pull his hand back but much too late. Floyd already had a tight hold on him. 'Don't you fucking touch me.' He spat into Spencer's face. 'Don't you fucking touch me!' He now shouted at him as he planted a hand firmly in Reid's face and pushed him back away. 'Don't you _ever_ fucking touch me unless I tell you to. Do you understand me you little bastard shit?'

Reid stood. His chair wobbled and fell back clattering to the floor. Floyd stood, he hooked his fingers under the edge of the table and tipped it forwards so that the plates and glasses slid smashing and splattering to the floor.

'I'm leaving.' Spencer turned and started to walk to get his coat.

'You're going to sit and eat your fucking food!' Floyd roared at his back. 'And didn't I tell you never to turn your fucking back on me? Who the fuck do you think you are?' He made a grab at Spencer's shirt, but his target slipped sideways out of his reach as he grabbed the proffered coat from the Maitre D who was only too happy to see them leave. 'Eat your damned dinner!' Floyd's voice was now the only thing to be heard in the small exclusive restaurant. The only other sound was the door opening and closing again as Reid walked out and into the bitter cold of Christmas.

'Who are you fucking staring at?' Floyd shouted at the other diners. He snatched his jacket from the hand which was offering it to him and walked out following Spencer into the wet street.

Reid knew Floyd would follow. He knew that he'd not be left in peace. He stood a few shops down and leant on the wall and waited. There was no point in trying to get away. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands. He knew that Floyd was standing in front of him. He could smell that dark smell wafting over him. He didn't need to open his eyes to know that he was there. Spencer looked down at his own hands and slowly pulled the ring off. 'That was a fine display. I hope you're happy.' He held out the ring. 'I don't want this. I don't want to play your games. I want to go home and go to sleep and wake up and discover that I've spent Christmas having a nightmare. I don't want any of this to be real. I don't want you in my life. I don't want you shouting at me and manipulating me and I am _not_ going to resign from my job.'

Floyd looked down at the ring and snatched it back again. 'It wasn't for you anyway so no matter.' Floyd stuffed the ring into his pocket and then wiped his hand across his nose. 'I don't know why you always react in such a negative manner when we're in public. It's as though you're ashamed of me. You're not are you?'

Spencer looked up now. He looked at Floyd directly in the eyes, which was something he usually found extremely difficult to do. 'Ashamed? Didn't you hear anything I just said to you?'

Floyd shook his head. 'You were babbling. Shall we go have a drink?'

It was Christmas. Reid thought he should show some sort of pity towards this man who had lost his mind at some point. But the very last thing… one of the very last things he wanted to do was go out for a drink with him. 'I don't want to go have a drink with you Floyd. I want you to go away and leave me alone. Go back to whoever it is you've neglected for the past few days. Go back to Sam.'

Floyd shook his head. 'Cant really. You unwrapped the gift I got for him. I'll have to go back to your place and get the box anyway. I cant turn up empty handed now can I? You will resign. One way or another… I'll make sure of it. It's up to you how it's done. But I don't think they're going to want some lame geek fuck who beds psychopaths and helps wash off blood – concealing evidence? – and well that makes you as bad as me. Not that I think I'm all that bad really.' He reached for Spencer's hand. 'Back to our place then? We have wrapping paper? I'd like to wrap the box again.'

Reid pulled his eyes away from Floyd, turned and started to walk back to his apartment. He had a feeling that he should call someone, but he also had a deep nagging fear that things had already slipped too far. It was too late. The phone calls should have been made before he walked through his apartment door yesterday. It was too late now. Much too late. He could hear Floyd's footsteps behind him as he walked up the couple of steps in front of his apartment building. He punched in the security code and pushed open the door. He even stupidly stood there holding it open for Floyd. Little point in letting it close it would only cause more anger and Floyd was perfectly able to let himself in anyway. Today Spencer wanted to go by the elevator. It was a fine choice really – be stuck in an elevator for a couple of minutes or be chased up five flights of stairs. He pressed the button and waited. It was at the top. _Ding ding ding_… the doors swept open and Spencer stood doing nothing until a hand pressed onto his back and pushed him forwards and his only thought was that if they'd taken the stairs at least he could have screamed and hoped someone would come to his aid. The doors closed behind them and Spencer stood doing nothing. Floyd reached over and pressed the _Stop_ button and grinned.

'Well.' He said as he pulled Spencer around to face him.

Spencer blinked once and shook his head. 'You can wait here. I'll go and get the box and bring it down to you.'

'I was thinking of…'

Reid put a finger over Floyd's lips. 'Don't. Whatever it is you have to say I don't want to hear it. I don't know why you came back and I wish you hadn't.'

Floyd grabbed Spencer's hand and pushed it away. 'Told you not to touch me and last night you weren't wishing I'd not come back. Last night… this morning…'

'You confuse me.' Spencer moved an arm around Floyd and pressed the button marked with the number 5. 'You can be the most loving wonderful person Floyd, but it's just a mask. The real you… the real you is what was in the restaurant and that Floyd is not someone I'm going to risk ruining my life for.'

'You washed blood off me last night. You…' He prodded Spencer in the chest. '…you washed an innocent man's blood out of my hair. You _tasted_ him on my skin and in my mouth.'

'No.' Spencer hissed back as the elevator slowly made its way up to his floor. 'No.' He repeated.

Floyd moved away from him and pulled the ring out of his pocket. 'Here – it's yours. Really it's yours. Sam has one with a little diamond set into it. This is yours.'

_Ding_ and the doors opened and Spencer walked out and down the passage towards his door. He didn't take it. Oh he wanted to. He desperately wanted to believe Floyd. He wanted to think that the blood had come from somewhere else. He wanted to think that the performance in the restaurant hadn't happened. He walked into the apartment again holding the door for Floyd. Again knowing that there was no point in trying to keep him out. The door closed. He heard the locks being put in place. He walked to the mess which had once been his lounge and flopped down still in his coat onto his chair and put his left hand out.

'Do you know how much I want to believe you?' Spencer said almost in a whisper. 'Do you have any idea how much I need you? But I cant live like this Floyd.'

'Then we'll move. A small house… a pretty red front door… roses…' He slipped the ring back over Spencer's finger. 'But that'll have to be after the holiday. I was thinking a small cottage.'

'There will be no vacation Floyd. You cant move back in here. I have to go to work.' He wrapped his arms around his chest and looked down at his knees.

'I'll write your resignation letter. I'll book us a _vacation_ in a small cottage in the woods… next to a lake?' Floyd knelt on the floor in front of Spencer.

'No. I like my work. I don't want a vacation with you in a cottage. How many times have we attempted to do that and how many times has it turned out to be nothing more than a series of nightmares. I don't want to go to the woods with you. I don't want to stay in the middle of nowhere by a lake which will undoubtedly have dead fish floating on it. I am a city boy. I like streets and lights and noise. If you want to take me on vacation somewhere then make it a city. I'm not prepared to forgo my sanity staying where I don't want to be. I enjoy my work. I want to work. I like who I work with. They are like my family Floyd, I cant just walk away from them.'

'Yet they walk away from you. Where are they today? This wonderful family of yours? Where are they and where am I? You have no idea what I've risked and what I've given up to be with you for this week. No fucking idea.'

He did have no real idea… though someone else was beginning to realise it.

The Rat in the Presbytery 

It was Christmas. They were feeling somewhat lenient. Which was unfortunate for the young man who had taken the trouble to smash a car window outside the police station. They took his name. They took an address and they kicked him out into the cold and icy rain. It wasn't what he had expected or wanted. He'd wanted to be thrown in the cells. He'd wanted a mug of coffee and to be questioned for hours on end by some do gooder. But no… it was Christmas… 'Go home. Expect a call to your parents.' And he was out on the streets again. The car had been covered by a blue plastic tarpaulin and he considered ripping it off and … he didn't know what else… there was one other place to try and now wet to the skin, and shivering and with his cracked lips beginning to bleed (not that the cops gave a shit) he walked down the road towards the church.

It was Christmas. The busiest time of the year for a catholic priest (so he'd been informed) and there was a scurry of people just exiting from the building when he arrived. There was a cute little Christmas crib set up by the doors and he crouched down in front of it and peered inside. He wanted to reach in and snap the heads off all the little people, but he didn't. He did though reach in and take one of the sheep. He turned it over in his hand. A tiny little cheap plastic object which wasn't really that much of a sheep when held up close. He considered putting it back but didn't. Something else caught his attention and he stood slowly and dropped the thing to the floor at his side. At first he didn't move. He just stood and watched Father Green talking to the parishioners as they left the building in their bright coloured coats and glittery ear rings which made his ice cold fingers twitch in their need to rip them out of the ear lobes and have for him own. There was a group of children holding dolls and toys which they'd opened that morning. Kids who got gifts left under trees or in sacks at the foot of their beds. It irritated him that they could be so shallow when he him self was so in need of something… anything.

He waited until nearly everyone had drifted away and then taking a deep breath walked over to Father Green.

'Hi.'

The priest's eyes went wide and then narrowed. 'What are you doing here?' It seemed that they knew each other and the priest didn't appear to be too happy about this. 'I'm busy.' He sighed.

'Well I got sort of arrested and needed to give an address and then I was told to go home. And I gave them the address off the Presbytery and I don't want to keep going breaking the law… not on Christmas day. And I know how much you like to help poor motherfuckers like me who have no where to live. I know how _accommodating_ you are and so here I am. I only want to stay for dinner and maybe have a nap.'

The priest took the young man by the arm and led him towards the door of his small house which stood next to the ugly modern church. 'You cannot stay here. I'll give you something to eat, but you must wait here.'

'You don't understand.' He grabbed the priests arm tightly. 'I'm going to die of the fucking cold if I don't get some dry clothes on. I'm wet through. You got to let me in. How would it look when people see you turn me away?'

'There's no one left to see. Wait here.'

'I'll cry rape. I'll tell everyone what you did to me.'

The priests face paled. There didn't seem to be any denial in the expression, just horror. He opened the door and walked into the warm comfort of his small house. 'There is Gerda in the kitchen. She will get you something to eat.' The words were more of a warning that there was someone in the house then a genuine offer.

'I can be quiet.'

'Gerda!' The priest called. 'Sam is here. Can you quickly get him something warm to eat?'

'Hiding behind the skirts of a woman. Why am I not surprised. My mouth hurts. I want a drink. Dry clothes. A sleep and then I'll go… maybe… unless you have something else to offer me.'

'Go to the kitchen. I'll find you something to put on. You cannot stay. As I said this is my busiest day of the year. I need to work. I have to get back into the church. I have things to organise. People to talk to.'

'Young boys to fuck.' Sam whispered. 'Oh I could get you into so much trouble! So shall I strip off here or go to my room?'

The priest grabbed Sam by his arms and looked into his face. 'You do _not_ have a room here. As I said I will get you something dry to wear and you can get something to eat from the kitchen. You cannot and will not stay. Where is your friend? Cant he help you out?'

Sam slapped Fr Green's hands away from him. 'Well he didn't turn up. I waited and waited. The fucking Shelter wouldn't let me in and yes I did go there.' He pulled out the bits of paper he'd been given. 'See? I went there. They said I had to be clean and dry. I got a cup of fucking chicken soup. Where the hell is all the good will towards men and crap you preach? Where's that gone? You cant do what you did and then expect it to just go away! You cant expect me to just disappear. It's not like it was a one off either! You asked me to come back!'

He was dragged into the small lounge and the door was quickly closed. 'Keep your voice down.' Green hissed at him. 'You're a mess. Such a terrible mess.' Warm priestly fingers touched the side of Sam's face. 'I want to help.'

'You want to help yourself. It makes you feel good.'

The priest moved his hands down to Sam's shoulders. 'I want to help you. Go to the bathroom. I'll leave clothes outside for you. Then come down to the kitchen. I have to go. I cant stay talking to you.' Now the fingers were brushing at Sam's hair. 'Go. Please. Please try not to be here when I get back.'

Sam reached up for the priests face but the man moved away quickly and was gone back through the door and to the church which no longer felt like the place he should be. He felt as though he was cheating the people. He was false. He was a fake. He was sure they'd see through his charade one day. He would damn Sam to hell but he had a good feeling that had already been done.

Words Spinning Around in Reid's Head.

They had nuts. A bowl of them on the table which was hardly recognisable as Spencer's anymore. It was covered in sticky puddles of mess which had then been covered in cheroot ash. They bowl had been full and now was only half full. Floyd sat at the end of the couch wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a hoodie which Spencer had bullied him into putting on. Reid was wearing jogging pants and an over sized sweater. He was reading from the book which Floyd had scrawled in all those years ago, which on one hand was a lovely thing to do and on another had defaced the book and dropped its value to the point that no serious collector would be interested in it. It didn't matter though. Spencer had no intention of ever getting rid of it. He was reading quietly… every now and then he fell silent and the pages began turning rapidly. Floyd would put out a hand and stop him.

'You're doing it again. Read… aloud.'

Spencer smiled and turned back the pages. 'It takes so _long_ to read aloud.' He sighed. 'I get irritated at the slowness.'

'But though I can tell when you're lying to me and where you've been, I cant actually read your mind with so much accuracy that you don't need to speak.'

'Sorry. I'll start again.' He placed a finger at the point he needed to start from.

Floyd snatched the book away. 'I'll read. You go make more coffee.'

Spencer wriggled sideways to look at Floyd better. 'I'm concerned.' He started.

'Well that's nice, but I can manage to read and not explode. Coffee babes please? Headache… and I don't want to bleed all over the book and I don't want to snort and get pissy with you again.'

'You were already pissy with me as you put it, before you snorted your wonderful stuff. It's not your reading I'm concerned about. I know you can read.'

Floyd slammed the book shut and nodded. 'Well yes… Spencer it was a joke. The headache isn't though, so what are you concerned about?'

Spencer just sat looking at Floyd. He was actually enjoying himself now. Now that there was no one to overhear Floyd's comments or see what was going on. When life was like this, life felt good. 'Things you said.' He said and then licked his lips.

'Well I've said a lot. Which bit don't you like?'

He could have said 'All of it.' But held back and tried to loop his way through it all and pick out the one thing which was bothering him the most and felt he couldn't put it into words. He was bothered that a young man was out on the streets waiting for Floyd to go to him. That bothered him, but now he didn't want Floyd to think that it had even crossed his mind. 'There are… There's…' Fiddle fiddle. 'Floyd.' Spencer shrugged. 'Why are you here?'

'That old chestnut again? Because I like you. I like your smell, the way you walk, your voice, your mouth, your ar…'

'I meant why are you not with…'

'Sam? He'll be fine. Expect he's found somewhere warm for the night.'

'You expect? He could be freezing to death. He's just a child.' Spencer took hold of Floyd's hands. It seemed OK again to touch him without being invited to.

Floyd looked down at the hands which were holding tightly onto his. He had his Spence back. For a while back there he thought he'd messed everything up again. He thought Spencer was going to call the cops on him. But now things were good once more. Spencer had that rich sweet smell about him and his soft hands were clutching hold of his. 'He's not a child Spence. I told you that. He's likely gone somewhere where he's been before. A whore house or slut shop or something. There's plenty in the city. He'll find somewhere to stay. And don't harp on about it being Christmas, I doubt Sam's even noticed. There's plenty of _friends_ he can go to. He doesn't need me.' Floyd closed his eyes for a minute and then sighed. 'You know I said about him having a ring with a small diamond set in it?' Spencer nodded. 'Well it's much like my lighter. It follows him around and it's also kind of like a tracking device. I can locate him via it if needs be. Now I can also tell if he's in pain. I feel it. He's not. Actually he's not even hungry or cold. So we don't need to worry about him. All you need to worry about is that my head feels bad and my nose is going to bleed soon and blood is fucking hell to get out of leather.'

Spencer released Floyd's hands and stood. He then asked something which would hopefully let him know if Floyd was being honest with him. 'Do you promise? Do you promise that by me letting you stay here I'm not putting the boy's life at risk?'

Floyd smiled. 'Sam's life is not at risk. He is warm and fed and reasonably content. I promise. If you want tomorrow we can go looking for him.'

Reid walked back a few steps still facing Floyd. 'If he's OK then it's not necessary.' Another few steps back. Damn… it felt as though he needed to bow before he left the room. 'Coffee then.' He spun and walked quickly from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

6

The Pure Thoughts Belonging to Father Daniel Green. (or Danny if you wish.)

Why now? Why today of all the days he could have chosen to turn up on my doorstep demanding from me that which I cannot possibly give him.

I cannot.

I will not.

Yet here I stand in this church I am meant to minister over and I look down at the faces of the people and they are begging me to give them the answer to all and I no longer have that answer. I never _did_ have that answer. Let them rummage through the good book themselves if it's that urgent. I cannot stand here and pretend. I know I keep glancing towards the small door at the other end of the church; the small door which opens into a bare corridor with two doors. One goes to the public lavatories and the other opens into my lounge. Dear Lord God save me from what I left in there.

Why don't you listen to me? Why don't you hear my words? If you wont listen to me and give me a sign that you understand and that you are forgiving how can I tell Mrs Arnold that the pain she is going through over the disappearance of her son is for a reason? How can I tell her that prayer will help her! It wont! I know it wont! How can I listen to sins and offer forgiveness? What place do I have to offer such? It's a sham! The people leave and think they are again pure – that their souls are clean and they're not! I cannot forgive when my own soul and heart are as dirty as they are. Who is going to forgive me?

Why today? Why did Sam have to return today? Now I know I should be saying something… my mouth is open and my tongue is licking my lips and the pale faces are all staring at me and I have no idea at what point we have arrived at.

My body is aching.

My whole body – every tiny muscle is screaming. Every nerve ending is crying out. I have to go to the demon child who is washing his pale sweet body in my home… who is going to sleep on my couch with that ebony hair and eyes which reflect the night sky. That boy who I should never have let into my home and should never have invited him back.

If indeed I actually did.

I carry on with mass. It's empty. It's meaningless. It's disgusting. I am nothing better than someone cheating at a game. I'm reading the rules yet I'm not even trying to follow them.

I'm talking too fast. I know I am. I'm rattling through this faster than I ever have. There is no feeling of love to them. They're nothing… Oh please end! Get out of my church! Leave me to what I have to suffer… suffer is maybe not the right word, but leave me to the demon who has eaten my soul and taken from me my life as I once knew it.

Back when things weren't complex.

When the answers to everything could be found in the book I'm staring down at.

Long ago before this heat filled my body.

This disgusting lust filled wanton heat.

The Gentle Art of Persuasion.

Spencer washed dishes wearing rubber gloves. Floyd stood behind him and rubbed against him and nibbled on his ear and licked the back of his neck. He asked Spencer to keep the gloves on for later – partially because it seemed a bit kinky and partially (mainly) so Spencer wouldn't be actually touching him.

Floyd had no idea why this was becoming a problem and he had no clue why sometimes he didn't mind and other times it repulsed him.

'Do you think I'm going crazy?' A whisper in Spencer's ear.

Reid turned around slowly with bubbles on the gloves he still had on his hands. He said nothing. Reid just looked at the psychopath standing in front of him and wondered how he could possibly answer such a question. His face twisted into all sorts of patterns before he gave up and shrugged.

'You must know. You can read people. If I was in an interview room… had I been picked up for something and you were talking to me – asking me shit – what would you think?'

Reid sucked in his lips and then licked them. He blinked and sighed and raised an eyebrow and when all of this was done and it still didn't seem to have given Floyd the answer he wanted Spencer sighed. 'I think I would have to suggest that you spoke to a professional. A therapist of some kind. You have issues. But it would depend on which of those _issues_ you displayed. I know you too well. I cant judge anymore. Your oddities are normal to me.'

'Oddities?'

'You display strange behaviour patterns which are not normal.'

'How so?'

'Anger? Jealousy. You fail to see that what you are saying or doing is actually hurting someone.'

'How so?'

'Floyd! You had a tantrum in the restaurant. You were the only one who did. Does that not make you think it was odd?'

He shrugged and stepped back from Spencer. 'Maybe the other diners didn't have to put up with your miserable fucking face.'

'Maybe that's what it is. It's my fault.' Spencer turned back to the bowl of bubbles.

Floyd backed away and sat down on a kitchen stool. 'Well yeah, so if that's the case it's you who's going crazy and not me.'

'Likely.' Spencer muttered.

'So why say it's me?' Floyd lit a smoke.

'I didn't. You asked.'

'You need to learn when to keep your fucking mouth shut.'

Spencer pulled off the gloves and walked from the kitchen. He paused at the doorway, again feeling that he needed to ask permission to leave, but then walked down to the lounge and fell with a _flomp_ into his chair. The name tag was still sitting on the arm. The crumpled paper was on the floor. The small box was on his desk on the other side of the room. Spencer sighed and looked at the ring knowing that maybe, just maybe the ring was for him, but the box? No… he was very sure that Floyd had made that for the equally insane freak called Sam.

'What are you doing?' Floyd came over and again knelt down in front of Spencer.

Reid reached over to brush some stray hair out of Floyd's face but pulled his hand back afraid the touching was not allowed. 'I was thinking. I try to do what you want. I try to do what you ask and I never get it right. I just annoy you. Why do you keep coming back to me? I don't get the feeling that you actually _like_ me. You put up with me. I will go on vacation with you. I will go to a cottage in the woods if that's what will make you happy, but why don't you take Sam?'

Floyd sat back on his heels. 'What makes you think I don't like you? I'm here aren't I? But good, I'll sort out the cottage for us. I don't want to take Sam. I would have asked him if I wanted to. It's you I want.' He bounced to his feet. 'I'll get that resignation letter sorted for you.' Floyd started to walk to Spencer's desk.

'How many times do I have to say that I don't want to resign?'

Floyd turned slowly. 'A lot more than you have already I expect. You can decide. It's entirely up to you.' He walked slowly back to Spencer and put his hand out. 'I fancy an early night.'

Reid cautiously took his hand and stood. 'Up to me to decide?'

'Of course. I cant force you. But not now. I want, no – I need you to think carefully before you make that decision because it will be sort of final.' Floyd began to drag Spencer towards the bedroom.

'Final?' Spencer managed to say before Floyd's mouth stopped him from saying much more that made any sense for a while.

The first strange thing which happened was that Floyd removed his boots. Then he un-did his belt and stood in front of Spencer and slowly stripped his own clothes off. Reid wanted to ask what Floyd was doing. Removing his boots was good, but the rest of his clothing? It was unheard of. Floyd stood with his pile of clothing around his feet and smiled. 'Turn around… I want to see you strip from behind.' Another odd thing. Spencer didn't really want to turn his back on a naked Floyd for Oh so many reasons, but he did what he was asked. He wondered if Floyd found this at all erotic because personally Spencer didn't. It scared him. It was abnormal. It was wrong. He was learning how to read Floyd and predict what he was going to do next, but this just threw everything out of the window again. Spencer stripped down as far as his boxers before he felt hands touching his back and hot breath on his shoulders and neck. Floyd completed the job for Spencer. He knelt behind him and slipped thumbs between the remaining fabric and Spencer's skin and licked his way down Reid's spine and over his buttocks and down the back of his legs. He then slowly and carefully licked and nibbled his way back up again. Still though Spencer found this experience more horrific that good. He could feel his skin coming out in goose bumps. The little hairs on the back of his neck and down his arms stood up in alarm.

They crawled to the bed. Spencer had forgotten that initial alarm he'd felt. He'd been silly to worry. Why had he been concerned about Floyd's odd behaviour? This was normal. This was how things should be. Maybe Floyd bit him slightly harder than necessary and maybe the scratching was a bit spiteful and the sweat made his skin tingle and sting but as he lay on his side on the bed shaking and shuddering and wondering if his brains just exploded with pleasure none of that small bit of pain mattered. At least not for now. Not while Floyd was licking his way over Spencer's wet skin and touching him in every possible place he could get his hands to. Spencer thought that his heart was going to burst in his chest. He thought this was going to kill him and what a way to die… feeling Floyd's wet sweaty body sliding over his.

A kiss on the ear.

A lick up the side of his neck.

A probing with fingers.

'Did you like that?' A whisper in Spencer's ear.

'Cant you tell?' He whispered back.

'So have you decided?'

Reid rolled onto his back. 'Decided what?'

Floyd leaned down and planted kisses over Spencer's chin and then licked at his lips. 'It's this or your job. What do you love most?'

Spencer opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut again.

'Well?' A tongue made its way down Spencer's chest and over his sticky stomach. 'Cant be that hard to decide can it? This…'

Reid groaned and writhed.

'Or your stupid job…'

Thoughts Buzzing in Spencer's Head.

It's not a good time for him to ask such a thing, but obviously that's why he's done this. It will be an act never to be repeated. He'll never do this or pleasure me like this again. I'll never feel his hot wet skin sliding against… oh god… sliding… against mine. How can I decide when I cannot even think straight? I want to beg him. I want to so desperately kneel at his feet as he has been kneeling at mine (another trick I'm sure) and I want to beg him never to leave me. I want him to promise that I will feel this again and no tricks, no double talk… I want to feel this again _with him_.

He cant leave me. I'll do anything for him. I would… I… I will resign. I will have to! I cant work – I cant go back to work knowing what I've lost! I cant lose this.

I reach out and touch him. He's on his side with his back to me, but I know he's not sleeping. I run my hand over the knobbles of this spine and I move it over the dip at his waist and down to his hips. I love him beyond all else. Certainly I love him more than I love myself. That much is without question.

I don't know what reason I could possibly give to resign. Questions will be asked. So many questions and the only answer I will have is that I want to lay with Floyd and feel his sweaty skin against mine. I want to taste him. I want to feel him. I want to devour him. I don't think Derek will understand.

I know Emily will.

Hotch will know a bit of what I mean but not fully.

Rossi wont have a clue.

Garcia will understand. She will know the same as Emily will know.

Thank goodness I wont have to sit and explain to JJ… though Strauss I will. Dear god… I'm not explaining my sex life to that woman. I'm not going to explain that I need this more than life.

'I would rather die than live without you.'

I say the words but they get no reaction and I wonder if he really is sleeping.

Snatches of Thoughts From the Muddled Mind of Floyd Flanders.

I'll Break his Fucking fingers if he Keeps touching ME! I've got my damned back to Him. Surely that's Hint enough that I don't want… I don't want to be Fucking mauled by him. I'm not a bit of Meat for him to Tenderise with his damned Fingers.

So He'd rather Die than Live Without ME? Well isn't that Big of him. Fucking slag that he is. I know he's going to Expect THIS again. He's going to be fucking Disappointed then isn't he? Touching always fucking Touching me.

I didn't Mean to HIT him quite that Hard. I've said before I don't want him fucking well touching ME. I've said that haven't I? Yes I have.

And who would have known that an Alarm Clock could inflict THAT much Damage?

Maybe I shouldn't have stamped on Him quite As Hard As I Did, but fuck… I've done it now. Cant go Back and Undo it can I? He's breathing. He's curled up on the floor crying Like A Baby and I've no Time for this Shit.

Only a small amount of Blood.

Comparatively only a Small amount anyway. What's all the fucking fuss about? I didn't have my damned Boots on. It was a bare footed stamp on the stomach. He Should Have Known Better. I've pulled my jeans and shirt on again and I'm crouched down next to him, but I don't want to touch Him anymore than I want Him to Touch ME.

'Shut up the fucking noise.' I tell him, but it makes no sodding difference.

I think I should have stayed my hand until After He Resigned, but Damn him… he had to Touch.

'You're lucky I didn't bite your fucking fingers off.' I comfort him with my words of caution. 'Next time I will.'

Some muttering comes forth from Spencer but it's just his usual shit load of fucking babble. He's saying 'Sorry.' And he Knows I HATE that word. I really cannot abide it. It's meaningless. He's not fucking sorry. He'd not have done it if he was. He's no more sorry than I am.

I assure you I'm only a bit peeved that I didn't wait until after he resigned. I might have to persuade him all over again and I hadn't planned on doing that.

'This is why!' I scream at him from the bedroom door and he mutters something between his pathetic sobbing _blah blah blah_ why would I be interested in what he has to say? I wet a flannel in the bathroom and go back. He's still laying on the floor but most of the actual blubbing has stopped and he's just sobbing a bit now. I crouch again and carefully without having to touch his actual skin slap the wet flannel over his face. 'Just be grateful I'm here to help.' I tell him, but he's flinching away from me.

AND SO HE FUCKING WELL SHOULD!

There's no need for me to stay here and watch this and so I get up and leave. I go firstly to the bathroom and scrub at my hands. They're covered in… I don't know… Spencer's sweat. I can almost feel it… no – actually I really can feel it burning at my hands, eating away at my flesh. I have to have the water very hot and I scrub at them with a small nail brush. Who but Spencer would own such a fucking thing? A Nail Brush? Fucking stupid fuck that he is. Cant he clean them with his teeth like every normal fucker on the bloody planet? What Makes Him So Fucking Special?

My knuckles are bruised and bleeding. Not sure how that happened.

So tired. I don't want to go to the bedroom until Spence has pulled himself together. Who could sleep with that noise going on? I drink some whiskey. I smoke some stuff. I snort some stuff. I stand at the window looking at rainbows for maybe fifty hours or so maybe longer – perhaps half an hour – time is going all over the fucking place today. I cant keep a hold of it. I put my hands on the glass of the window and try to pull the fucking rainbows in… if I can latch onto one of them I could control the fucking buzzing going on in my head.

It's like I've a cockroach there crawling over my brain. I can see in the reflection that I've a nose bleed. It's dripping down over my lips and down off my chin. In the reflection it looks as though my blood is trying to escape me and get to the rainbows. There are cockroaches in the blood. They grin at me.

Did you know that in Spencer's apartment (which strictly speaking is mine) tiny people reside. Oh so small that you can hardly see them, but they march in single file along the skirting board and some have these tiny little spikes in their shoes and they can climb up the walls. I can sit and watch them for hours. Very hard to catch, but if you can get one (try to get a barefooted one because the spikes can cause damage) they crunch between your teeth. You can only see them if you concentrate really hard and so I am.

Kneeling on the floor watching them. My nose is almost against the wall. Don't EVER get too close. Never… those spikes you know? They can have your Eye Out.

Some Tiny People Have Wings.

Spencer wiped the cold flannel over his face and felt gently at the place on his stomach that Floyd had stamped down on. If he had something ruptured in there he wouldn't know. What he did know what that he was in pain and that the flannel came away bloodied. He licked at his lips but for a change there didn't seem to be damage to his mouth. Most of the pain was across the top of his head and to his right ear. He folded up the flannel and held it with a slight wince over his ear and then pulled on his bathrobe.

For a little while Spencer sat on the end of the bed leaning over slightly as that took some of the ache away from his stomach. He was now glad that he'd not eaten much for his dinner. It would only have annoyed Floyd all the more if he'd puked up turkey all over the bedroom. He did know that there was small point in just sitting on the bed with an ear ache and a sore head and blood running in his eyes. If Floyd was going to come back and check up on him he would have done already. Spencer peered down at his hands. 'I could defend myself.' He muttered. But he knew he wouldn't. He knew he never would. He would just sit of lay there and curl up and do his best to protect him self from the onslaught. Slowly he got up and left the stilted sanctuary of the bedroom. He could see Floyd kneeling on the floor staring closely at the wall. He could also see a small puddle of what seemed to be blood forming on the floor and dripping down the skirting board. 'Oh…' Spencer moaned out. He'd wanted some comfort. He'd be hoping that Floyd would see what he'd done and would skin some grapes and feed up… but it looked to Spencer as though it would be him comforting Floyd. He quickly retreated back to the bedroom and pulled on some old cords and a hoodie and then went to see what Floyd was doing.

Carefully he knelt down next to him. He wanted to wrap an arm around him and see where all the blood was coming from, but he had a painful reminder of what happened if he did the wrong thing.

'What happened?' Spencer asked as he watched the drip of the blood.

Floyd turned his face slightly to look at Spencer and it was with quite a big relief that Spencer saw it was a nosebleed.

'If you don't keep your place clean this is what happens.' Floyd snarled at Spencer. 'Look!'

Reid didn't take his eyes off the running blood but couldn't work out why Floyd's mess in his apartment could have caused a nose bleed. Unless he was talking about something else. 'I don't understand.' Spencer whispered between clenched teeth. It was hurting his ear to talk.

'Well that's maybe because you're looking at me and not at them.' He pointed to Spencer's skirting board. 'When time slips to the side and you cant grab it then this is what happens. You know Spence you've got blood on your face? Anyway… if you care to look out of the window you'll see them.'

Reid had no idea what Floyd was talking about but he looked at the skirting and then at the window. The curtains were pulled open and something was smeared over the glass. Spencer had a good idea that it was one bodily fluid or another and didn't care to give it closer inspection right now. 'Floyd I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about. What am I meant to be seeing.'

Floyd held up his hands which Spencer flinched away from. He held up his two little fingers a little apart and looked through the gap he'd made. 'They'll have your eyes out babes. See what happens?' One hand reached out and touched Spencer on the tip of his nose. 'They infest… they fucking infest the place and I cant eat them all. Help me.' Floyd's hands now grabbed Spencer's shoulders. 'Did I hit you babes?'

'Go sit on the couch. I'll get you a drink of water.' Reid still didn't touch Floyd and didn't think that telling him that YES he'd hit him was going to do any good at this stage. Floyd was out of his brains on something.

'Babes I don't think I can move from here.' He slapped a hand on the wall and slowly removed it. Floyd inspected the palm of his hand carefully. 'My feet have been nailed to the floor.'

Reid glanced down at Floyd's feet which didn't appear to be nailed down to him. 'Who did that?' He asked though. 'Will you let me help you?'

'No point babes… no point at all. They'll just do it again.' Floyd sighed and rested his head on the wall. 'Don't let them take my eyes will you?' He muttered.

Spencer sat back on his heels and chewed on his bottom lip for a while. 'Floyd… would you let me call someone who can help you properly?' Floyd didn't react so Spencer carried on. 'He's someone I go to sometimes. Really nice man. Very professional. He might be able to suggest something for you.'

'I just wanted to take you on a fucking holiday Spence.'

'I know. You can still do that, but not if your feet are nailed to the floor. We have to sort that out first, so will you let me call someone.' Spencer stood. He so desperately wanted to reach out and touch Floyd, stroke his hair… The matter that not half an hour ago Floyd had been stamping him into the floor and screaming at him whilst flailing at him with his alarm clock like it was a morning star flail didn't seem to matter. Reid was far more worried that his man who was possibly the most violent bloke he'd ever come across even in the job he has – was losing his mind.

Floyd rocked back so he was away from the wall. 'I don't think that your friend will be able to help me Spence and anyway it's Christmas day night. Who's going to come out and un-nail me tonight. Get me a blanket and a cushion.'

'Or you can let me pull the nails out.'

'Get me a blanket and a cushion Spence and stop being such a fucking idiot. Of course you cant pull them out do you think I'm fucking stupid? Do you really think I'd let you get that close to me?'

Reid stepped back quickly. 'I don't want to deal with this Floyd. Get up off the floor and stop messing with my head. I've had enough. Get up or I'm going out. I'll spend the night with Derek.'

Floyd's head turned so fast that Spencer heard his neck crack. 'Fuck you! Go and fucking spend time with that… that… fucking… that… nnnnn… arsehole! Go on. Go and explain what's wrong and why you've got bits of some fucking Disney fucking shit plastic alarm clock stuck in your head! I'd love to be there when you tell him. Fuck yes… but don't you fucking bring him back here! This is my damned place. I fucking pay for it and if I want… and I do _want_ to say he cant come round to play tiddly winks with you then he fucking well cant! I don't want to smell him! Fuck him. Fuck your fucking fuck friends!'

Spencer dropped the bloodied flannel to the floor. 'I'll invite around who I please and if you want to still be hunkered down there thinking you're nailed to the floor then that's your problem.'

'Thinking! I'm not thinking! I know. I can fucking well feel it! Are you saying I'm stupid or are you telling me I'm crazy again? You better not be! You fucking better not be Spencer!'

Reid grabbed his coat and wallet. 'Or what Floyd? You'll hit me? You'll un-nail your feet and come after me?' He turned his back and walked to the door.

'And you'd leave me?' Floyd screamed at him.

'Get up off the floor and stop me or I'm going.'

Floyd slapped at the wall and wiped his hand on the leg of his jeans. 'You bring a fuck home and I'll rip my feet off to get to you.'

Spencer shrugged. 'Then I'll not bring him home.' He opened the door… 'Get up Floyd.' He hissed back at him.

'I cant you motherfucker! I told you I cant!'

Floyd saw the door close just as something leapt off the wall flapped tiny transparent wings and landed on Floyd's face.

Spencer stood outside his apartment door listening to Floyd screaming. He shuddered slightly. He didn't think it was him that Floyd was shouting at now. He wanted so much to go back in and help him, but he took a deep breath which shot a pain down to his stomach and another spike through his ear and he walked slowly to the elevator.


	7. Chapter 7

7

You Are Not Invited To Dinner.

He flew through the door like there was a fire monster on his arse. Dear Danny Green stands and looks at me and he's shaking his head. I don't know what his damned objection is now. I've had a bath. My hair is clean. My clothes are revolting but they're dry. I've not felt dry in like for fucking _ever_ but he's still not happy. I do a twirl for him and flick back my hair with the tips of my fingers. There's no one else here at the moment. The kitchen bitch has gone for an hour or so but will be back so she says.

'You cant stay for dinner.' Father Danny Green informs me and the happy smile I had on my face slips away.

'I'll behave.' I would. Really I would behave. I know what's at risk here. I'm not stupid. Though having said that it doesn't stop me from moving in close and rubbing like a dirty bitch dog in heat against his leg. 'I'll stay in the kitchen.' I whine. He doesn't push me away as I continue my dry fuck against his leg and turn so that I'm looking into those blue eyes of his. He actually wraps his arms around me and holds me. Oh my fucking God! I can feel him through his clothing. He wants me so bad. 'You can have me here… have me now.' I whisper into his priestly robes. He smells absolutely fab! Like a man. Like a man in heat. That's such a divine smell. It makes my head spin.

'You cant.' He tells me, but his voice is husky. 'I cant.' He adds. So I don't know what he's talking about anymore and my face is hot and my hands are touching him and rubbing at him and I'm still rubbing against his leg. Dear lord! I tip my head back and his mouth is sucking on my white flesh. 'I'll give you some cash. You have to leave.' He speaks onto the hot skin of my neck

'I need you.' I make sure he understands this by rubbing harder.

'Sam…' And now gently he is pushing me away. 'I have people coming around for dinner. You cannot be here. I'll give you some money.' His fingers are touching my face, my lips, stroking over my eyelids, following the curve of my nose. 'Get a hotel room for the night. What happened to you? What happened to your face?'

I let out a soft moan and pull back in close to him. I'm going to make a dreadful mess in my clean clothes but I don't care. 'Hold me for a while.' I beg him. 'Please.' And I'm rubbing again. He has a hand on the small of my back so I lean into his hand and arch my back. I bet I look so fucking hot.

I'd say even a priest wouldn't be able to resist me, but yeah… seems he can.

'Sam…' He likes saying my name like that. It's like I should be able to read his mind. But his mind is not really on godly matters right now cos his tongue is on my lips and he kisses me real deep and hard and his teeth bite gently on my tongue as I dry hump and let out a bit of a noise as I seem to lose control and I'm clawing at his clothes and curling a leg around him and pushing him back against the fancy dresser with plates set there ready for his guests. I'm a sweating heaving sobbing lump when he forces fifty bucks into my hands. I look at it and then I look at him.

'This is all I'm worth? Just fifty fucking bucks? How much do I get if I blow you?'

I think I've upset him. He looks maybe even angry. 'It's not payment for your fun. It's for a room. For the night.'

'Then I can come back again tomorrow?' I whine and moan and bitch about it being cold and he gives me a ratty old coat and doesn't answer my questions. I'm shown the door and he again kisses me as we stand there on the front door mat and he runs hands over my face when he releases me. 'What happened?' He asks me again.

'To my face?' I laugh. 'I got smacked. Don't worry about me Father Green. I have fifty bucks probably nicked right out of your collection plate. Have a lovely evening.'

'Sam.' I think that's all he's going to say again but he carries on. 'Be careful.' The door is opened and he pushes me gently out into the night. Oh I'll be careful. I've got a plan you see. I have a bit of paper with five names written on it in his hand. My name is one of them. The last one actually which in a way is a comfort. They are names of kids he's helped. _Helped_ himself to no doubt, but I have no proof. Four of them have addresses written next to their names. Two of them are in a hostel and two of them have private addresses. Mine doesn't. My name has nothing written next to it. They are all quite local though. They are all in easy reach. I memorise the names and addresses and start to walk away.

I'm not happy that I've been thrown out for the night, but he didn't tell me not to go back and he's only given me cash for one night so I'm going to take that as an invite to return. And when I return I'll have no competition.

And Some Tiny People Have Spikes and Knives.

He didn't get me a blanket. The heating has gone off for the night. That doesn't stop them. I can claw at this crappy wall for an eternity but it wont stop them. They slide out of the wall and they crawl over my hands and I punch the wall and rub my hands over my legs but they cling with little things which are like claws and like knives and like fuck knows what they are. Some fly around my head and I swat and flap at them but they just stop flying for a second and then they're on my hands and crawling up under my sleeves.

Something is in my hair and I pull at it and drag at it and things pop and squish under my fingers and try to get in my ears but there's already a good sized cockroach hiding there in my brain… it eats anything which goes in there.

'Fuck yeah!' I shout that and someone bangs on the wall. Do I disturb them with my howling and screaming? Do I care? I have hair twisted around my fingers now but it doesn't stop them from getting all over the fucking place. My nose… they're trying to get to me by going up my fucking nose! It's given me another nose bleed.

Where the hell is Spencer anyway? Why's he not here sorting this shit out? More snort might be nice but my last twist is on the coffee table with the booze and with my feet as they are (nailed – firmly nailed to the floor) I cant reach. I grab the phone off the desk and think of phoning someone but I hate telephones. Really do hate them and thus I don't use them. Therefore I have no numbers stored, but this isn't actually my phone!

Fooled you! 'Motherfucking fairies get the fuck off me!' It's usually a pygmy or two that comes to piss me off with blow pipes and shit. Never seen buggers like this before though. The curtains are open. I can see the bright lights out there scudding over the dark. They reflect off the bottom of the clouds and send beams of light through the window in all the fucking colours you can imagine. Actually I think there's more than you could imagine. It's like some fucking crap disco in here now and it's fucking cold. I told him to get me a sodding blanket but the selfish bastard just walked out. A smoke. I have a smoke in my pocket and so that's lit now. I wonder about setting fire to the place. That'd get rid of these _things_ trying to crawl over me but Spence might get pissed with me if I burn him apartment out to a pile of twitching ash. Also there is a vague thought that it might burn me too. Unless of course the floor burns through first and I cant release my feet. The smoke from the cheroot chases away the fairy fuckers and seems to block the flashing lights for a while. It looks as though there's things out side the window, but I know there cant be. We're up on the fifth floor here. No one can be there. I lob the telephone at the window anyway. Fucking nosy bastards!

Snake Pit Tavern Just Off Kings Street.

Spencer ducked in quickly to the public toilets which adjoined the grocery store at the bottom of his road. He stood in front of the mirror and stared at his face for a while before pressing down on the tap and getting a supply of cold water. His face didn't look like his own. It looked yellowish and sickly. There were deep dark marks under his eyes which he couldn't put down to lack of sleep. The brow of his right eye was slightly swollen and there was dried blood caked to his forehead and stuck in his hair. Carefully he touched the places which hurt the most and felt around for any bits of clock which might still be stuck there. He then pulled out his phone and stood leaning on the wall looking down at it. The first number he dialled was his own.

'Pick up.' He muttered as the numbers clicked through, but he got a busy signal. 'Damn.' He sighed and then stood again just staring at the phone. Again he pressed a couple of numbers… speed dial two… and stood with the phone to his ear. 'Hey.' He spoke quietly through the throbbing pain in his head. 'Derek, sorry to call you. I really need to talk.' He stood trying to stop his hands from shaking as he listened to the reply. 'No! No… not my place. I'm not at home.' Again he listened and sighed with something which might have been relief and might have been more of a realisation that now he was going to have to say something to someone. 'Thank you.' He said almost in a whisper and turned his phone off. He didn't want someone calling. He didn't want Derek to call back and say that he couldn't make it. He didn't want Floyd to call and ask where he was, though that was as unlikely as Floyd suddenly turning up at his apartment on Christmas Eve. He used paper towels to wipe away the water on his face and then made his way slowly to Snake Pit Tavern. It was Morgan's idea to meet up there. Spencer supposed that Morgan would know which places were open or the best to sit and discuss _problems_ in and why else would Reid have called Morgan tonight if there wasn't a problem.

Derek was already there when Spencer walked in. There was a half pint of something in front of Derek and a small measure of whiskey in place ready for Reid. Derek gave Reid a nod but said nothing. He pushed the glass towards Spencer and indicated for him to drink up. The place was almost empty. There were small booths around the edge. Music was playing at a level just loud enough not to be annoying. They walked to a booth and slipped down the bench facing each other. Spencer sipped on his drink. Derek said nothing. He was taking in what he could see.

'I have a problem.' Reid finally said as he placed the empty glass on the table. Morgan waved a hand at the bar staff but still said nothing. It was evident that Spencer had a problem. Derek just wasn't sure what had caused it. Another two drinks were placed on the table and Morgan waited for the pretty young girl to leave before he spoke.

'Who hit you?'

Reid sipped on his drink. 'I have a domestic problem. It's not work related.'

'Your girl friend hit you?' Derek wanted to feel amused by this but didn't.

His amusement slipped further when Spencer shook his head. 'Not exactly.' He took another gulp of his drink and leaned forward towards Derek. 'This is in confidence Derek.'

Morgan now looked bothered. 'You know I cant make promises Kiddo. Tell me what's going on and I'll see what can be done to sort it. Have you have those cuts looked at?'

'I looked at them myself. I know it looks bad, but it's not as bad as it seems.' He placed a hand on his stomach. The sudden arrival of drink was making where he'd been stamped on hurt. 'It's not really me I'm worried about.'

Now Derek looked confused. If Spencer was in this state and it's not him he's worried about… 'You beat up on someone?'

'No… Maybe that's my mistake, but no. I just laid there and let this happen to me. I had a visitor. Someone I knew from the past. He's back.'

Morgan stood up. 'And he's at your apartment? That son of a bitch Flanders did this to you?'

'Sit…' Spencer gestured for Morgan to sit back down again. 'It's not how it looks. Really. It was my fault. He's not well Morgan and I don't know what to do.'

'Not well!' Morgan bellowed, but sat down at the same time smacking his hands down on the table. 'He's never been well! Why did you let him in? Why didn't you call someone? Why leave it until now? What the hell do you think you're playing at? He's a serial killing son of a…'

'He's never been charged.' Spencer tried to reason.

Morgan leaned over the table and grabbed Spencer's hand. 'Just how hard did he hit you Reid? You know what he is. You could lose your job for simply being in the same room as him. Please tell me it's nothing more than him needing to slap you around. Tell me it's nothing more than that.'

Reid pulled his hand away from Morgan. 'I've not come to confess my sins to you Derek, I need advise. I need to know what to do. I cant go back there. He's…'

'He's a damned psychopath!' Derek finished. 'He should be locked up. Anywhere. Locked up and tied down and the key thrown away. Death row is too much of a cop out for him. He needs to suffer for eternity.'

'I think he_ is_ suffering.'

Derek stood up again. 'Oh please! You called me out here to tell me that you feel sorry for him? He doesn't suffer Spencer! He enjoys every minute of it.'

'I was going to call a doctor for him.' Spencer said in a whisper. 'He's sick Derek.'

Again Morgan sat back down again. 'A doctor?'

Reid showed his hands to Derek. 'I don't know what else to do. He's committed no crime as such. He's seeing things, talking to himself, paranoid and delusional. He needs help not being locked in prison.'

'Fine. You've made your decision. I don't understand it personally but that's up to you. Why ask for my advice?'

'Because I know any doctor I take back with me will be attacked. Assuming he has managed to un-nail his feet.' The last bit Spencer said with a touch of sarcasm he didn't often use. He then went on to explain to Derek what had happened… he missed out the bits about being naked. He missed out the part about the shower. He told Derek how Floyd had suddenly burst into a rage and beaten him with an alarm clock, and he then said about Floyd claiming there were things in the walls. 'He needs help Derek. I really don't think he's doing this knowingly. He needs help.'

'Needs help.' Derek repeated. 'You keep saying that. You've convinced yourself that he's done nothing wrong… fine. Get him help, but you are going to have to explain this to Strauss or at least to Hotch.'

Spencer pulled a face and looked down at the table. He fiddled with a few grains of salt and then looked up. 'I'm resigning.' He said. 'I don't think I'll be able to go back to work. Not after this mess. I cant face them Derek. I don't want to have to explain my life to everyone over again. I'll write a letter – hand it over to Hotch.'

'I'm going to your place. I need to see this for myself.' And again Derek stood.

'Please! Please Derek don't. He'll try to kill you. He has such a deep…'

'He's a racist. I know. You don't have to tell me, but I'm not letting you out of my sight until I've seen for myself that this monster you get so attached to is actually out of his mind and needs help. Are you sure he's not just got a real bad case of

dissociative personality disorder? You seem to attract them.'

'He's not a racist! And I don't know… I don't think so… I think he might have a brain tumour or something.'

'A brain tumour which makes you hate someone because of the colour of their skin or the way they talk or the…'

'Derek… Help me. He gets horrific nose bleeds.'

'He takes multiple drugs. He's cannibalistic…'

'Morgan.' Spencer hissed. 'I don't know.'

'I'll come back with you. If his feet are nailed to the floor then there's not much he can do now is there. I'll see what I see. If I agree with you then we will call someone. You though are not to resign because some lunatic is demanding that you do. I don't care what you have going between the pair of you and frankly don't want to know, but Reid kiddo this man has to be stopped. He needs to be locked up somewhere. Whether that be a prison cell or a locked ward in an asylum is what needs to be decided. You want me as the sensible head to think this through, then I'll try to be that person, but I know him Reid and I know what he's capable of. And if he's back in the city then people are going to start going missing and the blood trail is going to lead back to Flanders – and back to you.'

'I understand.' Now Spencer stood.

They walked back to Spencer's apartment in silence. Morgan was thinking of the million things which could have happened and most of them he wanted out of his brain never to come back again. The other things just worried the hell out of him. Spencer had obviously not told the whole story. Great lumps were missing from what he'd told Morgan and knowing that Reid could recall everything in detail meant that some things Reid was purposefully keeping back. It was those little gaps which bothered Derek the most. Spencer was silent because he feared if he tried to talk he'd throw up. Not only was the pain in his stomach increasing but the pain in his head coupled with the fear of what was going to happen next… it made for a very unsettled stomach for Spencer. There was now the growing fear of what Floyd would do when they were alone again and now he was wishing he'd called Hotch. Though that would have also been a mistake, as would have calling Prentiss and that just left Garcia, who was not the right person to help him today or Rossi who Reid really didn't think would understand at all. It was really Gideon he would have wanted here right now, but… Well Gideon was not available anymore.

The elevator was still at the bottom floor, or was at least there again and the pair of them stepped in. Derek was expecting there to be blood up the walls, or for the elevator to break down, or Flanders to suddenly appear out of the ceiling hatch, but it was disquietingly normal. The bell dinged and again it was oddly quiet in the passage leading to Spencer's apartment door.

'Wait.' Reid placed a hand on Morgan's shoulder and then quickly snatched it away again. 'Let me see first.'

Derek looked at the gap at the bottom of Reid's door almost expecting to see a flow of blood seeping under it. He nodded though and stood next to the door with his back to the wall. 'Just call.' He whispered as Reid slipped the key back in the lock and pushed the door open. Silence again and Reid's stomach heaved in panic. He could see Floyd was still there. From the door he could see down the short passage of his apartment; the broken pottery still on the floor, Floyd laying back with his legs bent and his feet flat to the floor. There was what looked to be blood up the wall. It was cold. His comfortable apartment suddenly had the feeling of a morgue to it. He took a deep breath.

'Floyd?'

The thing on the floor moved and turned awkwardly to face Spencer. 'Don't think I don't fucking well know he's out there. I'm not fucking stupid. What's he want? Did you call him?'

Reid took a step in. 'I was worried…'

'Were you darling? Well that's sweet. Why not get lovely Emily? Why that _thing_?'

'I was worried… I didn't know what to do. I didn't think Emily was the best person though.'

'So you chose that fuck? Well you are so thoughtful babes. I'll remember this. Next time you're in need I'll fucking remember this fucking…'

'Floyd… you need help.'

'Not from _him_ I don't. I'd rather boil my dick in acid than accept help from that thing.'

'I just needed someone here who wasn't emotionally involved. Someone who wasn't going to…'

'Fuck you! Fuck Agent Fucking Derek Fucking Morgan! What can you do? What the hell can you do? Turn the fucking lights off! They're boiling my damned brains.'

Spencer stood in the gloom and wondered what lights Floyd was talking about. He moved in though running his hand along the wall attempting to ground himself. _My apartment, my life, my home, don't let him manipulate you like this…_ He pulled the curtains closed and then called Derek in.

Morgan already had his phone out before he showed himself at the door. He was expecting to be leapt upon as soon as he showed himself but Flanders just groaned and looked away. The place was a mess and Spencer was standing back out of reach of Floyd just staring at him.

'What are you doing here Flanders?' Morgan eventually asked. 'You're not wanted. No one wants you. Go back to whatever pit you dragged yourself from.'

Floyd's eyes narrowed and his hands which were lying across his chest drew up into fists. 'Spence wants me. Tell him Spence. Tell him how much you want me.'

Reid looked at Morgan, but Derek wasn't going to take his eyes off Floyd. 'Get up off the damned floor you son of a bitch. I'm taking you down for assaulting a Federal Agent.'

'Fuck off. Spence hasn't filed a complaint and he's not going to are you babes? He wants me. You might not, which is mutual, but Spence wants me and I cant get up off the floor cos some fucking miniature bitches nailed me here. Now you can get over here and attempt to reason with them, but they don't listen.'

Spencer shrugged slightly as though to say to Morgan _I told you he was bonkers_.

'Well Reid you might be fooled by this performance but I'm not.' Derek turned, pressed a few buttons on his phone and walked from the apartment. Floyd turned his head to look at Spencer.

'You're going to let him get me taken away? You'd do that? After everything? You'd let that fucking nnn… him… you'd let him make decisions whether or not I am able?'

Reid knelt down, but still out of reach. 'You need help. We are getting you help. Someone will come and sort out the mess for you. They'll help you Floyd. You cant just lay on my lounge floor tearing up my walls and screaming. You need to be in hospital and have tests done and sort your head out. We are doing this for you.'

'Don't fucking talk to me like I'm stupid! I know what his plan is. They'll pin some fucking back street murder on me. They're itching to get me for something.' He dropped his voice to a whisper. 'You know… you know that night…'

But Reid started to shake his head. 'No. I'll not listen and I'll not know. I don't want to know.'

'Doesn't make you innocent.'

Reid stood as Morgan walked back in. 'Someone is on their way.'

Spencer really hoped it was more than one person and he hoped they had stun guns and tranquiliser darts.

The Cockroach Speaks For Floyd.

I'm sort of aware, but not so much… I know I'm screaming something but I don't know what it is and I don't know who it's at. I feel flesh… I tear at it. I can feel the blood oozing between my fingers and I'm sure I can hear Spencer's voice saying 'No… no… don't!' But I don't know who the fuck he's talking to because he knows never to say 'no' to me so it's not me he's talking to… fucking lunatic that he is. He's probably fussing over his fucking chair. He hates people sitting in his chair.

I seem to be on my front which is a puzzle as my feet are secured to the floor so maybe they've ripped them away. Lots of hands all dragging down on me. Deep dark demons pulling and breathing on me and talking too fast or too slow… or in Latin, or Rumanian... and oh… Hungarian… that's ok. I can understand that… or maybe it's English… fucking don't know what's what now cos that mother fucking thing in my brain is killing my ability to make sense of anything… My hands seem to be behind my back. Something sharp is stabbing into my legs and I'm still screaming at them to get their hands off me. I need to stop the damned little things from getting in.

'Plug – my – ears.' I speak very slowly and I think I speak in English. I try something else to make sure. 'Aures obturabo!' I bellow but they don't seem to be doing what I'm asking of them. 'Non, mihi ipsi!' I'm screaming but nothing is happening as I'm requesting… I try something else. 'Levo meus visio a solum.' But it's no fucking good, my hands are stuck… they roll me over which is a relief as things are stuck to my face. 'Get them off my fucking face Spencer! Get them off me!' And something which I assume is my babes is touching my face and whispering at me that all is going to be good and everything is going to be fine and there's nothing on my face and there's nothing near my ears.

Something warm and wet splashes down on my face and it tastes of sweet tears. It tastes of Spencer, but things are getting really foggy now and grey and sparkly. It's like someone has put grey glitter in my eyes and for a second or two I saw Spencer and then things are crawling over my eyes and I have to close them quickly before they get a hold and puncture my eyes.

I think I might have gone to sleep at some point.

When I awaken a whole new kind of hell has broken loose. I just don't know about it yet. I can feel it tingling through my body though. Something bad has happened. Oh yes… I know I'm tied down to a bed and something is taped across my face puffing air up my nose. I know I'm in a hospital… a specialist place I'll guess… they all have their own smells… but something bad… very bad has happened and soon it's going to reach me. I open my mouth and scream to be let go. I have to go. I have to sort the fucking mess out. 'I have to sort it out!' I'm screaming… maybe in English but I keep slipping into Latin and I don't know why… My brain is a mystery to me sometimes but I think I know the answer. 'It's a priest! The cockroach is a priest! You gotta stop him!' But they don't listen. Why would they. They think I'm insane.

(They might be right but do I have to admit that? Fuck no.)

(Besides… the damned thing in my head has taken over… From this point on I am innocent of any wrong doing.)

(Which means I can be a nasty bastard and get away with it.)

'It's not me! It's the creature in my brain!' There… just in case they don't know.

**A/N: OK so this is taking me longer to set up than I thought it would. Sorry! Thank you for the reviews… Pb xox**


	8. Chapter 8

8

Sam Has Something To Confess.

He's not there. I cant bloody believe that he's not in! Sister fucking Mary-Agnes opened the door looking all withered and shrivelled and disgusting. A big silver cross dangling around her scrawny neck. I hate nuns. I hate them so fucking much. Holy bitches who will or at least need to burn in hell. I have scars on the back of my legs from them hitting me. Well maybe not actual physical scars but memories… or just my imagination but that's as good as having them and I want to spit in her nasty thin lipped face.

'He's not here.' She says. And I just stand there with my mouth open for a while and then she's trying to shut the door.

I put my hand out both real fast and careful like and put it on the door just under the letter box. 'Well I can come in and wait cant I?'

'Why don't you go home and book an appointment. Father Green is a very busy man.'

I feel that need to spit again and so I do, but I spit down on the ground next to her feet. 'Well I do have an appointment.' I tell her. I think I do. He didn't tell me not to come back and so that's as good as begging me on his knees isn't it?

'He has no appointments today. He's out.' Again she's trying to close the door.

'But he told me to come back today!' I wail at her. 'And it's raining again and I…'

'Not today.' Slam… the door is shut and I hear the locks being pushed across.

'You fucking whore bitch!' I kick at the door. 'You don't know what he said to me! You weren't there! How the fuck would you know what was said!' But she doesn't open the door again. 'Fucking bitch!' I shout through the letter box and then move away just in case she's a bitch enough to call the cops. I go back to the little crib and crouch down. There's a small amount of shelter from this incessant cold icy rain. Not much, but better than standing in the street. I look into the crib and there's the sheep back there again so I put my hand in and remove it. Someone must have stepped on it because there's a leg missing now. One of the back legs. I turn it over in my hand and drop it back to the floor again. What the fuck point is there in having something broken in there? I put in my hand and pull out a woman with a blue dress on. I rub my thumb over her face which doesn't have a lot of detail on it and it feels smooth. I think of nice things I could do with it with Danny and then decide that he'd probably know where I got it from and get mad at me. People get mad for the oddest of reasons. I pluck out something else and it's just a blob of plastic. This fucking crib is crap. It's cheap and nasty. I think it's meant to represent the birth of the kid, but it's all wrong. There shouldn't be animals there and there shouldn't be men with brown faces and crowns on their heads. You'd think that they'd get little things like that right wouldn't you? It's ugly and horrible and I feel no guilt as I stand and start kicking it and stamping on the little people who fall out of it. I don't give a shit. I don't care. I'm doing the world a favour. Another favour. I've already done one and that's what I wanted to talk to Danny about.

So I sit on the steps of the church and smoke. It's not funny shit, but normal tobacco. It does nothing but make me feel sick. I've not eaten in a while. Not eaten properly and I do have money in my pocket still cos I didn't actually get a room last night. I think about life and love and promises and I look down at my hands and think what they did last night and how really that was maybe a stupid thing to do but it's done now. I would sort of like to tell Danny though. I would kind of like to warn him maybe that I did something I maybe shouldn't have done, because what can he do about it? I'll just say that he molested me and I went funny in the head and did stuff…

At around mid-day I go and get a burger and then I come back and sit on the steps of the church again. I do wonder if I missed him and think about knocking on the door but I'll eat my burger first and wonder what that old crone is doing in Danny's house and if she's up there sniffing his sheets and wearing his boxers on her head. Wouldn't surprise me one iota. Nuns are twisted sick beasts and should all be put down at birth. Are they born to be that way? That's a thought. How do you decide to devote your life to celibacy and long boring nights talking to some invisible being who never listens? Maybe they think they're being listened to? Delusional old witches that they are.

I stuff my wrapper with what remains of the naff crib and wipe the oil off my hands and I'm just about to go find out if Danny came home when I was away when some cars pull up.

Now I think I might know what this is all about. Do I run? Do I stay and blag it out? Shall I attempt to go in the church?

Fuck. Fuck and more fuck… they're going to Danny's door and now some blokes are standing looking at me and I know I look guilty. I'm standing like a fucking deer caught in headlights and cant move. I make the situation worse by bending over and puking on the church steps. I think that the door opens at the house and there's talking going on but I cant move. My feet are glued to the fucking steps. They must know. They have to know but how did they know I was here. I'm so fucking stupid considering I'm meant to be intelligent. One of the coppers, for yeah… sure as hell that's what they are, one of them turns to me again and I try to take a step back and nearly fall arse over tit down off the step but I do manage to back away.

'Are you Sam?' He calls out to me and I'm turning away. Oh fuck I have to get away. 'It's all right!' A voice is calling. 'We just want to talk to you.' So finally I find the ability to run, but I don't seem to find the equally delightful ability to look where I'm going and I'm tripping over the shit which came out of the crib and something has caught around my ankle and I'm falling. They're still shouting at me not to run. They don't even sound angry with me and I'm laying amidst a pile of tat and straw trying to get up and failing totally. My next ploy is not to move. Not to talk. Not to say a fucking thing. 'It's OK.' Someone is touching my back. 'We are police officers. You're safe.'

'Safe?' I spit it out and then remember that I'm meant to be keeping my mouth shut so I just do the next best thing and burst into pathetic tears.

Interview Rooms.

They have two people for now who they can talk to. Though for the faces looking through the mirrored window in at one of those people the case seems to be closed. It's the same pattern which always seems to erupt around their ears when a particular person is involved. Morgan though isn't so sure about this and Spencer is very sure that they have _The Wrong Man_, even though that man wasn't here in the police station. The side glances at Morgan were beginning to irritate him.

'It has all the hall marks of Flanders.' Hotch was saying.

'But…' Spencer wanted to defend him. 'It couldn't have been him.'

Hotch turned slightly cold eyes to Spencer. 'He fits the profile.' He stated. 'And that young man…' He turned back to look through the window at Sam who had his arms wrapped around his head and was resting it on the table. 'Doesn't.' He finished. 'We are looking for someone aged between…'

Reid cut him off. 'But I know it wasn't.' Oh he could feel the rot swelling through his body. Spencer knew for sure that one of the bodies found was probably a victim of Floyd's and was likely the one whose blood Spencer helped to wash off. The other's though… now he _knew_ that couldn't have been Floyd. Sure he'd left him alone for a while but he wasn't in the condition to go on a sudden rampage. 'Hotch it wasn't Floyd.' He sighed.

Again those cold eyes looking at Spencer. 'I think that you're too emotionally connected to this. Go home. I will call you in if you're needed.' The cold voice matched the eyes.

'It wasn't him.' Reid stated again and once more gave Morgan a quick glance.

It was Emily who walked towards the door. 'I'll talk to him. Maybe he'll be more responsive to me.' She had a burger in one hand a small tray with two mugs of coffee in the other. 'He's scared.'

'But what of.' Hotch muttered and went back to look through the window.

Sam wanted to look up when the door opened but he didn't. He'd made a decision to talk to no one and that's how it would stay, until of course they let him talk to Fr. Green. Then maybe he'd do what they wanted. It was strange though because they didn't seem to be angry with him. Emily sat down after placing the food and drink on the table. She had a folder under her arm which she put down in front of her.

'Sam I'd like you to look at some pictures for me.' She spoke gently but Sam knew the bitch and knew that she was not going to keep up this front for long.

He looked up at her though and wiped his snotty nose on the sleeve of the ratty wet jacket he was wearing. 'I've done nothing wrong.' Sam moaned at Prentiss.

'Well no one said you had. We just want to talk to you about a few things. There's a burger for you and some coffee.'

'I want a smoke.' He sulked as he prodded the burger wrapped in greasy paper.

'Later maybe. For now I want you to look at some pictures and answer some questions.'

Sam looked at Emily through red puffy eyes. 'I don't know.' He answered. 'I don't know anything. I've not done anything so how can I answer any questions if I've not done anything and if I'm not in trouble you cant arrest me.'

Prentiss nodded and pushed the folder towards him. 'You're not under arrest Sam. Please look at the pictures in the folder and tell me if you know any of those people.'

'So if I'm not under arrest…' Sam flipped open the folder. '…I don't have to answer anything and you cant keep me here.'

'Let's just say that you are helping with enquiries.' She prodded the top photo to get Sam's attention back where she wanted it. 'Do you know who that is?'

Sam glanced down. He knew who it was. He'd seen him… more than once, but he shrugged. 'Might have seen him at one of the shelters.' Which was perfectly true. 'It's not really that easy to tell from a mug shot.' Emily turned to the next and Sam frowned down at it. 'Again maybe… it looks like Alex, but I'm not sure.'

'How do you know Alex?' Emily still had that sweet soft voice.

'He sells stuff. But he was unreliable. I'd ask for one thing and he'd bring another and sometimes bring nothing at all.' Emily didn't bother asking what sort of stuff. They already knew that Alex had been a small time drug dealer. She prodded the next picture and again Sam frowned. 'No idea who that is.' He picked up the picture to look closer. 'Is he dead?' Sam ran a finger over the slightly grainy photograph. 'I've not seen him in the shelters. What happened to him? Did someone kill him? Is he a whore or a junky?' Sam put the photo down but carried on staring at it. He sipped at the coffee and shrugged. 'What happened to him?' Sam asked again.

'What about the other two photographs. Do you know the other two?' Emily's tone of voice had changed slightly, but Sam looked at the last two pictures and nodded.

'I've seen them hanging around the shelters.' He pushed it away and looked at the face of the person he didn't know. 'Tell me what happened to him.' He again held up the picture to look closer at it. Emily carefully removed it from Sam's hands and placed it back in the folder which she closed.

'Don't you want to know what happened to the others?' She asked him.

'Well sure… yes…' He reached out for the folder again wanting another look at the unknown face.

'When did you last see Floyd?'

And again she had Sam's attention. 'Well the motherfucker never fucking turned up when he said. As fucking unreliable as that mother fucking skank Alex. I saw him a few weeks ago. He was meant to come back a couple of days ago and never fucking showed up. I waited all damned day for him and there was no sign of him. I have no idea where he is. Do you think he killed those people?'

'Tell me what happened Christmas Eve. Where were you?'

Sam picked up the burger and started to eat. 'I just told you. I was waiting around for Floyd and he never turned up. Then Christmas day I went to the shelter and they'd not let me in, so I tried to get arrested just so I could be somewhere dry and they told me to go home, but I don't have a fucking home! I live on the damned streets but I knew Father Green would help but he didn't really want to help me either, but I had a bath and he gave me clean clothes and then told me to leave so I left and walked around the streets until this morning and then went back to him cos I knew that the shelters wouldn't let me in. They've sort of banned me from going to them because they say I'm a fucking junky wino bitch and I'm not! And I only whore when I really have to. Look at the state of me! Who'd want to stick a cock up my arse? No fucker would. Not and pay me anyway – at least not at a good rate.'

'Last night as you walked the streets, did you see anything unusual? Get any funny feelings that you were being followed? Anything strange happen?'

Sam's eyes narrowed. 'Strange? Like I was being stalked?'

'Did a stranger approach you?'

'Strangers constantly approach me Emily.' Sam sighed. 'Then walk away when they see I'm covered in fucking scabs cos all I ever get to eat is other peoples left over shit. Oh thanks for the burger. I cant remember if some particular approached me. I got some cash at the johns at the park, but I don't know who it was. The lights are always off there and I only got the see the toilet bowl as I was kneeling. You know? It's not like I'm fussy what someone looks like, especially if I'm not looking at a face. I doubt he was all that particular either as all he got to see was the back of my fucking head. So are you going to arrest me for prostitution now? I really don't care if you do. It'd mean I got more to eat than a fucking cheap burger and I'd maybe get a proper bed to sleep in. Now why am I really here?'

'Did anyone threaten you last night?'

Sam wiped at his nose again. 'Emily – you've never quite understood what it's like to live on the streets have you? It should be part of your training and then you'd not ask lame questions like you do. Of course I got threatened. Can you see that bruise on my face under my eye? Well that was from a couple of days ago… I get slapped and threatened every fucking hour of my life. If not by other – if not by street whores then by fucks like you. It never ends. I cant remember to be perfectly honest with you but I don't think so. I did have to run at one point.' Sam decided it was time to lie to this sweet Agent Prentiss. 'I was down by the river where the bridge is in the park. There's usually business going down there especially when it's raining cos there's shelter there – but there was someone down there already and I couldn't see who it was cos it's so dark but I don't think whoever it was wanted to be disturbed and I could see a glint of his eyes from the yellow over head lighting on the bridge and he was staring at me, so I turned and started running and I could hear someone chasing me for a while, but I'm pretty fast on my feet and I know all the little hiding places in the park now and I managed to slip down behind the big gnarled roots of a tree and disappear into the shadows and whoever it was ran right on by me. I stayed there until I knew he wasn't coming back then left. That's all though, but I get chased by the park wardens often. It's nothing new really. But maybe that was a threat? I don't know. I_ can_ tell you that it sure as hell wasn't Floyd… if that's where this is leading to.'

'What is your connection with Father Green? Why did you go to him for help?' She pushed the coffee closer to Sam and sipped on her own.

'He works in the shelters. That's how I got to know him, but he's a good man. He's kind and genuine and stuff. I went to his place a couple of times for a little bible study.' Emily nearly choked on the coffee she was sipping. 'You find that amusing?' Sam snapped at her.

'Please carry on Sam.'

'Well I don't think I feel like talking to you if you're going to laugh at me. I didn't go there to read the bible. I went there for free food and some warmth. He even lets me have a bath there sometimes and gets me dry clothing. He's a good man. He tries to get me to go to the shelters but as I said they wont let me in. They say I'm trouble. I go to Father Green because I know he's a priest and I know he's safe. He's not going to try to fuck me.' Sam could feel his face getting hot. 'But I'm only allowed there if other people are there too and I'm not allowed there if he has special guests. I don't go there often but I was desperate.'

Prentiss nodded and stood as she picked up the folder. 'Do you have somewhere to stay for tonight?'

Sam stood, picked up the almost empty plastic coffee mug and hurled it at the walls. It made a soft splashing sound and magically made the door open and Hotch step in. Sam was already in full rant mode though. 'I just sat here and fucking _told_ you that I don't have anyplace to go! I just said that the shelters wont let me in and I have a fucking good idea that Father Green has been warned away from me now too thanks to you and that bitch Mary-Agnes. What the fuck did I do wrong? I happen to know some mother fucking turd who doesn't show up when he says and so I'm guilty by association! That's so not fucking fair! I've not done any fucking thing wrong! It's not my damned fault that those idiots got they necks broken…' Sam started at Hotch then at Emily and then sat down quickly. 'You cant fucking well keep me here! Want to leave. I want to go! I need to say my confession to Father Green. I want something to eat! I need… I want… You fucking bastards!' Sam wrapped his arms around his head again and slumped to the table in howls of pathetic tears.

Hotch and Emily silently left the room.

'He's lying.' Hotch said as the door closed behind him. 'He was talking in past tense before he knew… he picked out the one who was not connected to Father Green and the shelters. He knew about broken necks yet kept asking about one in particular.'

Emily stood next to Morgan and looked through the window. 'He's certainly lying about something. He knew about four of them but not the fifth. But maybe that's just because the others were connected to Green as is he.'

'I'd like to know exactly _how_ he's connected to Green though.' Morgan hissed. 'Either way, all five of them had shelter connections and he could easily have known them even if there was no connection via Green.' Morgan looked towards the doorway where Green was sitting talking to Rossi. 'I want to know how often Sam goes to his little safe house. I want to know if he has other boys back there. I need to know what the hell he thinks he's playing at and did he know that Sam knew those other four kids. And I'd love to know how Sam knew they had broken necks.'

Emily sighed as she looked through the window. 'You think it was Sam and not Floyd who did this?'

'Doesn't fit the profile.' Hotch muttered. 'But we've been wrong before.' He turned to look at Reid who was sitting on a chair staring at the wall. 'And I want _you_ to go home.' He said to him. Hotch then turned to Derek. 'Take him home will you? Or if he's not happy going back there make sure he's booked in somewhere. I don't need my Agents wandering the streets in the rain.'

Slowly Spencer stood. 'Hotch?' Just on that one word Aaron knew that Reid had something important on his mind. 'Hotch… I really need to talk to you about something.'

'Later Kiddo.' Derek took Reid by the arm. 'You can stay over at my place for the night if you don't mind the couch.' Morgan didn't think it was the right time for Reid to tell Hotch he wanted to resign.

Rossi was talking quietly to Green who seemed more than a little bit upset about the news of his dead friends. 'They've been no trouble. Two of them had jobs and had recently started renting a room. They were past the trouble and moving onwards. They came to me still in times of crisis but that's what I'm there for.'

'And Sam?'

Green shook his head. 'Sam is the most recent young man I've tried to assist. He's very troubled. Very deeply troubled. He should be getting professional help from somewhere. His problems are not just the usual street problems. I get a few young men and women come to me for help. People turn to God when in crisis. It's not uncommon. They drift again just as quickly but it's not up to me to judge them on that. I'd never turn someone away because I didn't think they had the staying power to attend mass once a week. Sam though… it's more than drugs, alcohol and sex, much more. He's unstable. He wont talk of his past. He gets very angry if I try to get him to discuss it with me but I'm sure that's the route of his troubles. I like him though. Even though he'll do astonishingly wicked things, he's not evil. He's unwell. But as said I'm not a professional and he refuses to talk to anyone but me it would seem. Do you think he's safe?'

'Safe in what way?' Rossi was making notes on a pad.

'From whoever killed the other boys. Sam's name was on the same list.'

Rossi's head snapped up. 'List?'

'I have a list of boys I've helped and their current location.' Green sighed. 'Sam is on that list along with the four other boys.'

'And where is this list Father?'

'At home. I have all information of that sort filed away. I can get it for you if you want.'

'Does Sister Mary-Agnes know where the list is? Could she fetch it and bring it in? Or we could send someone there to get it?'

Green nodded slowly. 'It's no secret if that's what you're asking. The list is in amongst the other paperwork to do with the Shelters I help in. I think it's important – at least for some young men and women it is, that they're not forgotten. They need to know that they'll get that card through the post around Christmas time or birthdays… they need to know that at least there is one person always there keeping in contact… passing on information.'

'I agree.' Rossi said. 'Do you know Floyd?'

Green sighed. 'I know of him. I've heard the name. If we are talking about the same man Sam talks of. I've never met him. He seems to let Sam down a lot. I don't even know what this man looks like or how old he is.'

'Do you know how old Sam is?' Rossi sat looking at his hands.

'Sam? How old Sam is?' Green rubbed at his eyes with fingertips. A vile sickness was creeping through his stomach. 'It's never been a matter that needed to be discussed.' He added… oh how it should have been though. Green bit down on his bottom lip hard trying to stop the panic he was feeling. 'He's an adult.' He stated, but he had a horrible feeling that he was going to be told otherwise. 'He'd be in the care of social services if he wasn't.'

Rossi nodded. 'Well thank you Father Green and I'm sorry to bring you such bad news at this time of the year especially. Do you know anyone who would have had a grudge against your friends?'

'I cant see why anyone would want to. They were very special to me Agent Rossi. They were like young brothers to me.' He clarified. 'But I don't see why anyone would want them dead.'

Ideas Ripped From Floyd.

I was slotted into a machine and told not to worry – told it was just going to take pictures of my brain. They expected me to lay there and let them do that? Are they insane? What the hell do they think they are? Fucking cocksucking motherfuckers! I told them they were that. They stuck needles in the tops of my legs and ripped away my puffy air stuff and slotted me into the infernal machine anyway. I would have moved had I been able to, but they were trying to cook me alive in there. Do they realise how fucking dangerous this is?

My eye itches.

My nose itches.

I'm drooling.

'You will hear a knocking sound for five minutes.'

Well thank you for LETTING ME KNOW! What they think I can fucking well do about it I don't fucking know. I'm sure they're meant to give me a button to press just in case I need to puke, but I'm offered no escape.

'You will hear a knocking sound on your left side for five minutes.'

I'm going to choke on my fucking droolfest I have going on here and I CANT MOVE but thank you for warning me of a sound I can do fuck all about.

'You will hear a tapping sound for two minutes.'

'We will be drilling into your brain and sucking out your super human powers.' – Ok they don't say that but if they did I'd not be able to do anything to stop them. Damn tit bitches… when I can move I'm going to suck their eyeballs right out of their overly bleached prissy fucking fake tan faces.

'BITCH!' I howl when they pull me out of the machine and I think I surprise them that the meds they gave me didn't work for as long as they'd have liked. They have to get some fucking hoard of tall over weight Irish wankers to stop me ripping the MRI room apart. They seem to have managed though and hey ho… straight jacket time. I'm dragged along the floor and I'm spitting at everyone who gets close and I can taste blood but I think it's mine. Rooms and floors and ceilings and doors and windows with bars on them and people with their arms crossed, screaming boys with heads like dogs and laughing girls with heads like kittens, the rooms are too small and too big and sloping and have stairs… doors and pink dressing gowns and blue bath robes, bald men and glasses with tape over the bridge and dancing Spaniards and Italians with Lutes and there's a piano with a dwarf and a midget walking a tightrope… fun… a circus of insane people… two headed people… people no arms or legs or too many arms and legs or one eye or no eyes or three eyes and no mouth or tits and dicks or nothing, nothing just absolute nothing but silence and doors… banging through doors and more… clanging open cages full of wild beasts… and finally the peace of white limbo. This is good. At last.

I can turn off my head and sleep.

So I curl up in a corner and I scream myself to sleep.

They think I'm bonkers.

The truth is though, that what is happening is I'm seeing through the veil. It's the world that's insane. I'm the only one left who can think straight. Well me and Spencer…


	9. Chapter 9

9

What Morgan Thinks.

Well we know for sure that Flanders didn't kill them, so what the hell is Spencer looking like a wet weekend for? I thought he'd be relieved but he's there on my couch looking like it's the end of the world. He's free from that son of a bitch so what's his problem now? I'm pacing back and forth across my lounge and I stop and open my mouth to say something and the right words just don't exist. I don't know what to say to him. The monster beat up on him. He is insane. They've locked him away someplace while they wait for damned test results which we all know will come back with nothing because there's nothing physically wrong with him. He's just a monster and you can see that on the outside, but I cant say these things to Reid. I want to sit with him and have a joke about something but what? What's to joke about? He's said again that he's going to resign and has asked me for something to write on and with, but I've not been that helpful. I don't want to be part of him ending his career. I don't want to go into the office in the mornings and not see him there bent over the paperwork. I don't want to not have him by my side when we go on a case. I want…

I want to comfort him. I want to put a manly arm around his shoulder, but I cant do that either. I cant let down the façade I've been hiding behind for so long just because Reid is having an off day. Another off day. He's had many and I've resisted in the past and I'll resist now.

So I'm sitting next to him and muttering something about it all being all right now.

'How can it be?' Reid is saying.

I don't have an answer to that because it's not going to be all right… 'What's bothering you?' My god that was a stupid question and the look he's giving me lets me know that he thinks so too.

'They think Sam killed four people in one night and didn't get any blood on him. As Hotch kept saying, Sam doesn't fit the profile and we both know it wasn't Floyd.'

I nod. I know this. We've talked about this. There's something else though and I think it's that other body which was found. The one which _really_ fits the profile and isn't just a handy corpse to add to Floyd's list – that's the one which is bothering me and very much bothering Spencer. 'If you know something Reid…'

He gives me his scowl and I raise an eyebrow… 'Like what exactly?' His hands are twisting on his lap.

'You know what. Do you know something you're not telling us?' I put a comforting hand over one of Reid's. 'If Flanders told you something or did something…'

'Derek!' He pulls his hand away from mine. 'I know you don't like him and with good reason but don't try to pin crimes on him which he couldn't have committed. You know where he was when all that was happening. You know he didn't do it and I don't see how Sam could have done it either.'

I raise my hands in defeat but I don't feel defeated. I'm annoyed. I know he's holding back on something. 'Reid… if he did something and you know about it you have to tell someone.'

'You saw him! You saw the mess he's in. Derek I came to you for help.' Reid seemed to be pulling further away from me which really isn't what I wanted. I place a hand this time on his knee.

'Reid… Kiddo… The man hurts you. He uses you. You've been all this time coping without that monkey on your back you don't need it again now. Get rid of it.'

Spencer wiped away an itch on his nose and stared at me almost with hatred. 'I thought you'd understand. I thought I could trust you. I thought you would…'

I wait for what he thought I would do and he says nothing more but I can see the pain and horror in his eyes. It's all back like it used to be. All that effort to get rid of the pain that man caused in the past is back and it makes me hate him all the more. He's not happy to come back and go on a killing spree… he has to torture Reid's mind too. I move in closer and slip an arm around his shoulder. 'You know I'm here for you Spencer.' What the hell am I saying? What the hell am I doing? 'I need to go to bed.' I try to get up but Reid is pulling me back down again. 'Reid…'

'He came home with blood on him. I didn't know where it came from and didn't want to know, but I helped him clean up. I got him clean clothes to wear. I destroyed the evidence because I couldn't face that he was back and was going to be gone again so soon. I've messed up. I know I've messed up. I know what he is Derek. I know what he's capable of, but there's something… just something… but I helped him destroy evidence and that's my crime. Mine alone. I don't want you involved. It's something I'm going to have to deal with myself.'

Rossi Has A Few Words With Sam.

'You made some interesting statements.' Rossi is saying to Sam. They are standing in a small secure courtyard at the back of the police station. Sam having refused to talk further until he was permitted to smoke.

Sam gave Rossi a sly look. 'Well it got what I wanted didn't it?' He puffed on the cigarette like it was the answer to eternal youth.

'Are you saying that you lied to us?' Though Rossi was sure that some of what Sam had said was fabrication there was also the matter that he seemed to know things which he shouldn't have.

'I'm saying that I don't think straight when I need something and I need lots of stuff you know?' Sam paced and fidgeted and kicked at imaginary stones.

'You have a drug of choice?' Rossi was watching the twitching restless young man as he paced and lit up another cigarette. Sam spun on him and frowned.

'Of choice? Well obviously. Doesn't everyone? I cant get what I want. It's not available. No one fucking well has it and I've offered vast amounts of cash…' Sam clicked his fingers together and spat on the ground. '…no one can get it. And morphine is too much. Not _too_ much, you know? But people are hanging on to supplies and I think the big boys wont deal with me.'

Rossi stood still and just observed. His hands pushed into the pocket of his jeans. The air was damp and Sam was shivering in his wet jacket which he refused to remove even so they could try to dry it for him. 'So you cant get morphine… you cant get what you really want… what exactly is that?'

Sam shook his head and took a deep drag on his smoke. 'Well you cant get it for me so what's the point in saying? Floyd could. He could get it but he didn't bloody well turn up. He's as fucked up as everyone else. It does my head in. Everyone does my fucking head in but Father Green. He's a good bloke.'

Dave wiggled his toes inside his Italian leather boots and nodded. 'I agree, he is a good person. Not many men would risk their reputation helping out someone like you.'

Sam spat the end of his cigarette onto the ground. 'And what's that meant to mean? I'm no worse than the other people he helps out. Can you get me morphine? If not this conversation is likely over.'

'I cant.' Rossi shook his head. 'I'm not a supplier I'm a Federal Agent. Can you tell me what the other thing is which you like? The drug Floyd can get for you?'

'And get him into shit? Why?'

'He's in hospital Sam. Would you like to go and visit him at some point? I might be able to arrange that but I need answers from you first. I want to know what drugs Flanders supplies you with and I want to know more about those young men who died.'

A sharp sly look crossed Sam's face. 'Hospital? He is? And you'll let me see him? Is he medicated?'

'Answer questions first…'

'Poppy oil. It tastes bitter, but it's so addictive… the taste, not the actual stuff. What about those dead blokes? What could I know about them? I just saw them a couple of times and never even saw one of them ever.' Sam paused and looked at Rossi in the eyes. 'I didn't do anything. I know what you think. I know you reckon I had something to do with it, but I didn't. I'm just an easy target and I'm not all that well, but I'm not a murderer.'

'Tell me why you made a comment about necks being broken.'

Sam walked towards the door but turned to look at Rossi. 'Cos I assumed Floyd had killed them. He always breaks necks. I dunno how he does it so easily but that's what he does… he breaks necks and then tears you apart. Sometimes when he's not well – and I mean really unwell he'll maybe eat bits, but he's sick. You know that don't you? I had more of an interest in that one who I didn't know. I just had a feeling about him. He didn't seem to fit with the others… though I'd only seen two of the others at that point… it just felt out of place some how. There was something different. The picture was grainy.' Sam battled through every excuse he could think of. 'And it's just… you know… I'm fucking freezing. Can we go in now? Can I leave? Am I under arrest for anything? Can I see Father Green? Can I go see Floyd? Is Spencer around?'

'We would like to ask you about what you said you saw in the park.' Rossi opened the door and let Sam back into the corridor. 'But I would like you to remove your jacket first.'

Sam kicked at the skirting board and hissed out some curse words. 'What is it about my fucking jacket you're so interested in?

'Indeed. Why wont you remove it. You're soaked.' Rossi had slid his hands back into his jeans pockets.

'For the love of fuck!' Sam shouted at him. 'You want to know why? It's because my hands are shaking too much!' He held two shaking pale hands out for Rossi to see. 'I have trouble with buttons.'

There was a nod from Rossi. 'Well let me help you then. Your co-ordination didn't seem a problem when you were smoking. I'm surprised that a few buttons cause you so much difficulty.'

Sam took a few steps so he was almost nose to nose with Rossi. 'Why are you such an arse hole? Is it a Federal pre-requisite?'

Dave stood his ground. He wasn't about to be intimidated by a mouthy teenager. 'Take the jacket off.'

There followed a lot of shouting and pacing, kicking of walls, more shouting… claims that no one ever has and ever will understand him… demands to see Father Green, demands to see Reid, more demands to leave and a quiet request for something to drink. 'Fucking dry old place isn't it?' He snarled as he finally pulled off the jacket and threw it to the floor. 'Satisfied? Like what you see do you?' He held his arms out with his palms face up. 'Well? Happy… going to fuck me now are you? Want me to take my jeans off too? Fucking sick bastards! All of you! Every mother fucker ever born…' He paused as his fingers fumbled at his waistband button. 'I hate fucking shit arse buttons! Why does everyone always ask me to take my damned clothes off? Or they scream at me to put them back on again. What the hell is wrong with everyone?'

Rossi moved to Sam quickly and grabbed his wrists. 'I just wanted you to remove your jacket.'

'Why?'

Dave picked the jacket up and looked over at the faces of police officers staring at the scene. 'Because it's wet. Someone get this dry please?' He held it up for someone to take from him. 'Sometimes people remove clothing for other reasons than wanting to see someone naked.' He passed over the jacket with a nod and then grabbed Sam's wrists again. 'You know Sam that you are safe here.'

'Fuck you! I'm not safe anywhere! The only place I ever feel safe is when I'm with Father Green. You wouldn't understand! You've not had… you're not… you don't…' He finished with sobbing and tears which was always a good way to give pause to something when he had no idea what to say. 'I'm tired of being abused!' He managed to wail.

Sam had on a Tshirt under the jacket he'd removed. It was old and baggy and wet on the shoulders where the jacket hadn't kept out the water. There was a wet blob between his shoulder blades too, but it was the mess Sam's arms were in which interested Dave more. They were covered in what was obviously cut marks, needle marks, burn scars and bruises. What Dave had wanted to see was some evidence that Sam had killed at least four and maybe all five of the victims on their list. What he _did_ see was someone who didn't look like he had the strength to stand up let alone chase down, follow, murder, break into houses… Rossi just didn't see how this bony sick teenager could have done it. Not in the short span of time Sam would have had. He led Sam into a small room and asked someone to get a sandwich and a drink for Sam. It was getting late… Rossi was wondering how Sam was managing to stay awake. There were dark marks appearing under the bruises he already had on his face.

'Father Green is still here. He's been asked to find you somewhere to stay for the night. One of the shelters. You'll have a bed to sleep in and warm food. Sound good?'

Sam looked down at his lap and started to pick at a scab on his arm. 'I wanted to see Reid, or my… or, erm… Floyd.'

'When you've talked to me about what you saw in the park. Now what I need you to know is that I'm going to record what you say. You're not in trouble, you're not under arrest, it's just so people who aren't here can listen to it.'

'Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot Agent Rossi. You're recording it so you can try to trip me up on my own words later. I know your sort.'

Rossi smiled. 'It cant be used in evidence Sam. That's what I'm saying, but you will have to be careful that you tell the same story and no fabrications.'

'As said Rossi… I'm no idiot.' The sandwiches and coffee arrived. Sam sat and pulled apart the cheese sandwich and poked around inside the filling. When he looked up again he could see Rossi looking quizzical. 'Checking it's not drugged. People put crushed dope in food sometimes. I always check if I don't know where it came from. I advise that you do too. It might save your life one day. I've found rat poison in stuff before, more than once. It's always in sandwiches. Burgers are safe… I don't know why people want to put rat poison in sandwiches do you?' Sam shrugged and pushed the sandwich away. 'Coffee… I don't have to check. There's this stuff, it's a liquid and one _tiny_ drop in coffee – or tea, but the drink needs to be hot, one drop and it will kill. It's always fatal. No cure, but you see it has a real strong smell and if you know what to look out for it's fine. I can always tell if my coffee has been spiked. Though never put honey in your tea…' Sam leaned over the table. '… it smells like honey you see so you'd not know. Never have honey in your drinks Agent Rossi cos it might kill you.'

Dave said nothing. He did though wonder how someone can live always thinking that they're going to be jumped on and abused or poisoned. He supposed that this may be why Sam doped himself up… there had to be a reason people sought escape of that type. Or was this paranoia and the delusions because of the drug use?

'I went to the park… it was raining and I was going to go hold up in the bogs, but someone was _using_ them… which's not too surprising. I then walked down to that stupid fucking thing… the bandstand. I thought I could shelter in there but there was some hooker and her john shagging away down there so I decided to go to the bridge. Not the ideal place but it's shelter and it was cold and I was getting wet. So I walked down the path towards the bridge and then over the grass cos you have to get off the path to reach the under part of the bridge. The river was real high and running fast. I could hear it. Anyway I started to walk down the grass bank and I slipped onto my arse and when I looked up and into the shadows under the bridge someone was looking at me. He was crouched I think cos he seemed too low down and there looked to be something in front of him but it really is dark under that bridge. Anyway, the lights on the bridge were sort of flickering the way things do when it's raining but I could see that light in his eyes and I got to my feet and raised my hands like this…' Sam raised hands palm forward at shoulder level. '…you know to let him know that I didn't have a gun or shit or anything and was sorry to disturb him… and I started to turn and it was like this power – electricity had shot up my back and I let out a small yelp of pain but I think it was just plain fear you know? When adrenaline really shoots so fast through you that you nearly shit yourself… do you know that sort of fear Rossi? It can kill. It really can stop your heart, and anyway I started to run and I could hear someone running after me but he didn't call out but I could hear his feet squeaking on the grass and then crunching on the pathway and so I shot off to the side when I reached bench five and there's a big tree behind it so I slipped down there and tried to hold my breath and the person who I think looked like a guy pounded by me and I don't know how he couldn't hear my heart trying to smack its way out of my chest and I just stayed there like forever and then slowly moved away. I didn't go back to the same path and I sure as hell didn't go back to the bridge… and that's it.'

'What do you mean by squeaking on the grass?' Rossi asked.

'Well like he had sneakers on or something.'

'You said you knew it wasn't Floyd. How can you be so sure if you didn't see him or hear him?'

'He would have found me for starters. He would have been able to smell my fear and he wouldn't have bothered chasing me either. Why would he… he could have just called out my name and I'd have known. It wasn't him. I know for sure it wasn't him. I'd swear on a bible.'

Night Time Happenings.

Spencer had the couch. Morgan gave him a pillow and a blanket and asked if he needed anything else. Reid just slowly shook his head and kicked off his shoes.

'I'll be in my room.' Morgan said… he felt horribly awkward. 'If you need anything.'

Reid pulled the blanket over himself and lay his head down. 'I'm good thanks.' He muttered and lay there trying to look as though he was relaxed and happy, but his head was screaming at him. Morgan wasn't fooled. This was why Derek lay awake listening out for any sound which Reid might make. Spencer tossed and turned. The blanket twisted around his legs… he couldn't sleep. He had so much going on in his head that it was perfectly impossible to consider sleeping. It was therefore a shock when from somewhere in the dark where he could hear crying – someone was shaking him.

'Reid… you're having a nightmare.' Morgan's voice. Morgan's hands touching his arm and soothing his brow. Morgan's tooth paste smelling breath wafting over him. Spencer opened his eyes and looked at the man kneeling on the floor next to the couch.

'Derek?' He sounded confused. He _was_ confused. What was he doing here? Spencer looked around the room with a faint glint of panic on his face 'I have to go.' He unwrapped the blanket from around his legs and pushed Derek away. 'I have to be at home… what am doing here?'

Morgan assisted in the blanket untwisting but didn't move back out of the way. 'Reid. You cant go home. Stay here the night. Tomorrow we'll get someone in to clear your place…'

But Reid was pushing Derek back away from himself again and shaking his head. 'No! I have to go. I have to be there.'

'Everyone knows you're here. It's OK. You had a nightmare Reid. I'll get you a warm drink.'

On his feet now Spencer was searching around for his shoes. 'You don't understand. I have to be there in case he turns up.'

Now Morgan was annoyed. Spencer was being irrational and stupid. He wasn't being the cautious sensible young man he usually was. 'Flanders is locked away in hospital. He's not going to show up and if he does I should be with you.'

'Not Floyd! I don't mean Floyd and being with you is the last place I need to be. Derek this is a mistake.' He pulled on his shoes and dragged his cell phone from his pocket. 'I need a cab. I have to be at home.'

'Then allow me to come with you.'

'You don't listen! No! I have to be alone. I really have to be alone.' He almost said he was _sorry_ but something niggling in the back of his head told him not to. He grabbed a coat and walked to Derek's door. 'Call me.' He made a phone gesture to his ear. 'Tell Hotch I'll contact him. I cant be around either of you. I just cant do it Derek. Tell Emily… no… no don't…' He shook his head as though trying to get thoughts in order. 'Call me.' He repeated not knowing what else to say and was gone. Morgan stood in his lounge listening to the echo of the front door slamming.

He rubbed his hands over his smooth head. Oh he would call. He would be calling personally. That's for sure.

In the meantime Father Green was being subjected to Sam. He had said that he'd get Sam in a hostel for the night. All had been going well until the cab pulled up outside the chosen destination and then Sam refused to get out of the car.

'I don't want to go in there! They'll beat me! I want to stay with you! Please, please let me stay with you! I feel safe when I'm around you.' His pale hands were all over Green who was attempting to push him back and hopefully out onto the sidewalk.

'You cant stay with me Sam. You cant. I'll get you a room here and you'll be safe and I'll come and see you tomorrow. Here…' He handed Sam a small pocket New Testament. '…if you feel afraid or alone you read that.'

'I don't want to fucking read that!' He threw it at Green then snatched it up again and stuffed it in his pocket. 'I'll keep it but I'll not damned well read it. I want to come home with you!'

His protest was interrupted by the cab driver who wanted to know if they were going to pay up and get out. Green handed over some cash and told Sam to get out of the cab. He did. He got out but he pulled Green out with him. 'Please don't leave me here!' He wailed as the cab drove off to find passengers of a less weird disposition. Sam used every card he could play. 'They'll abuse me! They hate me. They'll poison me! They don't understand me. They wont have me in there. I'm banned from that place because I threatened to report them.' Hands again touching Green over his chest and on his neck and if they had been in Greens tidy comfortable home he might have grabbed Sam and held him tight and told him that he would keep him safe and tell him that he would…

'Sam let go of me. Please don't do this. I am a priest. I have promised my life to God.'

Sam's hands dropped from Green and the pleading look on his face turned to one of spite. 'Well you're going to have to find someone to confess your sins to then Father Green, cos I've had your rather willing dick in more than one of my orifices and next time you have a boy to stay over you might regret sending me away like a bit of trash. I thought you liked me. I thought you wanted me. I did something special for you and you just throw me out anyway. Everyone does this to me. Everyone I've ever known does this. Why am I so hated?' Tears snot and more tears and a good bit of sobbing now arrive to make the accusations hurt more.

'Sam…' He was going to say more but Sam's hand made contact with the side of his face before he could. Sam's fingernails dug in and though he didn't have enough strength to physically hurt with the slap the sharp nails left bloody grooves down the side of Green's face.

'Fucking hate you! You perverted child molesting bastard!' Sam howled. 'I trusted you and you used me!'

Green placed his hand over the stinging mess on the side of his face and backed away quickly. 'This isn't necessary.'

'Yes it bloody well is! You tried to get me to back with you for a fucking bible study! You were going to…'

'What? No! Sam no.' Green backed further away. 'Don't talk like that.'

Sam stepped back now too… the distance between them getting greater not only physically but certainly emotionally. 'You raped me!' Sam screamed… and before Green could react Sam turned and ran.

Spencer sat in the dark of his apartment with his back against the door. He was waiting. He would wait forever if it was necessary. There was a horrible smell drifting up from where Floyd had been bleeding on the floor. There was a sound of flies and other insects moving around and probably dying after having a drink of Floyd's blood. Spencer didn't want to go down there and look but he also was burning up with the need to clean up. He sat with his legs folded up tight against himself and his arms wrapped around them with his head resting on his knees. He didn't know how long he'd been like that but again he was sure that he'd not fallen asleep but he was instantly alert and getting to his feet (which were strangely numb) when the scratching started on the other side of the door he was leaning against. His hands felt sweaty and shaky as he fumbled with the locks on the door. He knew Floyd would come back. He knew if he just waited then he'd return. Explaining that to Morgan just would have created more misery as he'd have insisted on coming home with him and…

As the door opened something soggy and limp fell into Spencer's arms. It wasn't Floyd…

'Sam?'

'Oh my god Spencer… help me.'

Arms wrapped tightly around Reid as he stumbled back. 'Sam?' Reid repeated not knowing what else to say. He'd had all the words he was going to say to Floyd ready in his head but this wasn't Floyd. Sam kicked the door closed and kept a tight grip around Reid's neck. 'Sam what happened?' He could feel the icy cold _thing_ pressing against him and pushing him further back into the apartment.

'The priest! Don't let him get me.' Sam wailed as he pressed his face against Reid's chest. 'He tried to lure me back saying about bible study but he's a pervert Reid… he's disgusting. Please don't make me go back with him. I don't want to go through the horror of being placed in that man's control again.'

'The priest? Father Green?' Spencer tried to push Sam back to get a better look at him. 'What happened?' Reid really couldn't imagine that any man (other than Floyd maybe) could have any sort of control over Sam. 'What did he do?' AH… stupid… so stupid. 'Go and sit down… go and sit. I'll make you a drink. Let go of me… just… let go.' Reid attempted again to pull Sam off him. He knocked against the small hall table which had once had a pretty vile vase sitting on it. Reid's feet crunched on the broken pottery and finally Sam loosened his grip. 'Please… go and sit down. Take your wet jacket off.' Sam seemed to be permanently wet. 'I'll go and get coffee.'

Sam just stood with his face pressed against Reid's chest. 'You will help me wont you Spencer? You wont let them come for me will you? You know I'm just a victim of circumstance don't you? You know none of this is my fault don't you?'

'Please get that wet jacket off. I'll get you a warm drink and on the back of the couch is a blanket – wrap it around yourself and try to warm up.'

Reid stepped away from Sam now and gently pushed him in the direction of the blood and flies and insects and the smell of blood. It maybe wasn't the best place to ask Sam to go alone, but he certainly wasn't going to tell him to go to the bedroom. When he returned with two hot mugs of coffee Sam was sitting in the dark with his jacket thrown on the floor. He was perched on the edge of the coffee table with his arms wrapped tightly around him looking down at his feet. Spencer placed the mugs down behind Sam.

'Sit on the couch. It's more comfortable and the blanket…'

Sam looked up at Spencer. 'Will you help me?'

'I will do what I can. Please sit on the couch Sam and then we can talk about what's been going on.' Reid sat down in his own chair and watched Sam carefully. What he saw was not what he expected. Sam stood and took his hands out from under his armpits where Spencer assumed Sam had been trying to keep them warm. He had something in his hand though which made Spencer's jaw drop. 'Is that my sidearm?' He whispered. 'Sam put it down.'

'It was in the drawer in the hallway. Stupid place to keep a gun. You're going to help me or I'll kill myself. I'll shoot my brains out over your floor and you'll have nightmares forever about it. And you'll have to explain it to Floyd.' Sam lifted the gun and placed the barrel against the side of his head. 'Now you going to help or are you just going to drug me with whatever you've put in that coffee?'

Reid blinked and licked his lips. 'I said I will do what I can Sam. Please just put that down.'

Sam moved it to under his jaw. 'They will come and get me and lock me away. They'll say I'm crazy but I'm not. I'm not crazy Spencer. You know I'm not don't you?'

The first thought to go through Reid's mind was that _yes_ Sam was crazy, but he slowly shook his head. 'Sometimes things feel hopeless Sam, but doing this isn't going to help.'

'They'll think you killed me. It's your gun.' Sam began to pace but the revolver stayed firmly under his jaw. 'Everywhere I go I try to be nice. I try to make people like me. I do what they ask even if that means stripping off and doing things I shouldn't do. It's always the same and I thought Green would be different, but he's not. Everyone is the same. Even Rossi was trying to get me out of my clothes. Even him! Can you believe that?'

Spencer couldn't believe that. 'Sam… there's no safety on that. If you trip in the dark you could take your head off. Please just put it down and we will talk and I will try to sort things out for you.'

'Can I stay here?' Again Sam moved the gun and now pressed it against his chest. 'Can I? Will you help me?'

'I cant do anything all the time you're holding that gun. Put it down and try to be calm. If people have been abusing you don't you want them to be punished? Don't you want to do something about it?'

'Of course!' and now the gun was being waved around the room. 'Of course I do!'

'And you cant if you're dead.'

Sam stopped his pacing and looked over at Reid. 'Will you help me?'

'No. Not if you don't put that down now.' Spencer could feel beads of sweat popping out on his brow. Sam walked to Reid's desk and placed the gun down. He poked at it with is finger and then turned to Spencer.

'OK, but if you don't help me then I _will_ top myself and you'll be to blame. Do you have any painkillers I've got a blinding pain.' Sam walked over to Spencer and sat back down on the coffee table. 'I hurt all over. I think I have a fever or something. I cant think straight.'

'Bathroom cabinet.' Spencer said and stood. 'Come with me and I'll show you.'

'Can I live here Spencer?' Sam asked as he was being guided to the bathroom.

Spencer dropped his hand from Sam's skinny shoulder. 'I only have one bedroom Sam. It's not possible. You can stay over until we can sort things out though. Here…' He opened the bathroom cabinet and took out a tub of pills. 'Take two.'

Sam took the tub of pills from Reid and turned to look at him. 'You are going to chuck me out onto the streets like everyone else does. I know you are. I can feel it tingling inside, you know like an alarm going off.' He pulled the lid off the container and tipped a fistful of pills into his hand. 'Did Floyd give you that ring?' Sam looked at Spencer's hand. 'Did he give you my little box too? What a bastard. I cant believe he'd do that. He gave me this ring.' He flashed a small ring with a tiny diamond in it at Spencer. 'At least I got a fucking diamond I suppose which is more than you got.' He popped two pills into his mouth and crunched down. 'You know he loves me more than he'll ever love you don't you? I know he was here when he should have been with me – I know that, but that doesn't really count.' He popped two more pills in his mouth.

'Only two.' Reid said with a vague distant tone to his voice.

'Oh like you give a shit if I overdose or not, and I wont so don't bloody worry about me. And he's not been well and I know he's not been well because I can feel it in my soul and he can feel when I'm unwell in his soul too. Can you? Do you feel him when he's not with you? Of course not and your ring on that finger might make you think you're special but you're not.' Sam put two more pills in his mouth and threw the rest behind him into the basin.

Reid had a lot he wanted to say to Sam but firstly he had to remove the gun and put it somewhere Sam couldn't get to it. 'Do you want a shower or a soak in the tub?' As soon as he said it he knew he shouldn't have. 'Or you can just leave it. Do you want to make your own coffee so you know I've added nothing to it?' This seemed maybe a better course to take.

Sam nodded. 'I'll make coffee.' He then proceeded to pull off his Tshirt. Spencer winced but said nothing as he left the bathroom.

Reid waited to hear the sounds of Sam in the kitchen before he picked up the gun, emptied it and then locked it away in a metal box he kept hidden behind some books. The bullets he placed in a separate locked box in the desk drawer. He thought he heard Sam's footsteps and turned but all he could hear now was that low hum of things crawling in the blood in the area where the lounge met the small hallway. He crossed it quickly trying not to look too closely at what he was treading in. He had to get it cleaned up. He would do that whilst Sam talked to him. There were also bloody finger prints on the door of the bedroom and on the wall. He had to get rid of those too. Spencer wasn't completely sure just whose blood it was. He walked into the kitchen thinking about bleach and disinfectant but stopped in the doorway. Sam was standing with a small knife in his hand and pressing the tip of is against his chest.

'You cant stop me. If I really want to do it you cant.' A small bead of blood appeared and trickled down Sam's front.

'I cant. You're right. But why? I said I would listen. I said I would try to sort something out. You've got coffee you've made yourself. The box is out there on the desk… take it. I know it's yours. I know you have a connection with Floyd. I'm not trying to take that from you Sam…' and before he could stop himself he was spilling his own guts telling Sam how he'd told Floyd to leave, how he'd tried to refuse the gift. Sam put the knife down and walked out of the kitchen pushing past Reid.

'I don't want to hear your excuses.'

Reid grabbed his arm. 'They're not excuses Sam. I'm just telling you what happened. Now I need you to tell me what happened with you and Father Green. If he's been molesting boys he's in serious trouble. Even if they are of an age that they can consent, he's still in serious trouble. So if you want to do something about that you have to talk to someone.'

'In my jacket pocket is the bible he gave me. He wanted me to go back to his place, but I know what happens at his bible studies. I've been to them before and I can tell you that not a lot of reading goes on. I don't know how he can stand there in front of all of those people on a Sunday and preach about love and good will and peace and all that shit and then an hour or so later force me to my knees and make me take him in his mouth. Does he get off on it? I mean doing that thinking that his god is watching? I try to go there when the woman is working in the kitchen. I'm safer that way. I go there and I let him fuck me and he gives me money. That's where that money came from. He gave me fifty bucks last time and chucked me out onto the streets on Christmas night. What sort of a man does that Spencer? You know? If you're going to love someone why cant you just go ahead and love them? Why all the mind games and fucking about?' Sam rubbed at the small bloody dig in his chest. 'It makes me feel so worthless. It makes me feel like I'm not worth anything unless I've got someone else's body part stuffed in me.'

Spencer moved a hand to Sam's shoulder and pulled him in close. He had a very good idea that nothing of the sort happened between him and the priest. He was very sure that the man never touched Sam. What bothered him though was that Sam seemed convinced that he _had_. He was equally sure that Sam would easily pass a lie detector because his paranoia and delusional mind would easily fool a machine as much as it seemed to be fooling himself. 'You know I'd never hurt you. You know that don't you?' Oh how many times had Floyd said those same words to him just before laying in with fists and feet? Sam must have heard the self same words over and over again. Spencer wrapped arm around Sam's back. 'I mean it. I'm not just saying it. I'd not ever hurt you. But you have to learn that just because someone abuses you, because when they're in… when they… at the time they might well say that they love you, but it's… they're… it takes more than that. People say things when they're in the throws of passion or lust. Things they don't mean. Things to try to make the other person excited or happy… you cant believe them. Not when they're said in that situation.'

'But Floyd tells me I'm a slag and a whore when he's doing me. Does that mean that I'm not?' Sam muttered as he once again seemed to curl himself around Spencer. 'Do you like it that Floyd bangs me? Does that turn you on? Do you like it that I let him have me and then he gives me his mouth? Does that excite you Spencer? Do you like that we slide our hot bodies against each other?' Sam's hands slid up the back of Spencer's shirt. 'I know it does. I can feel you sweating. I can tell by the way you're breathing. It's ok… I'm not a kid… you can have me if you want…'

'I don't…' Reid attempted to push Sam off him, but in the same way that Green had a problem disentangling from Sam – now Spencer seemed to be having the same problem. 'Stop…'

'Oh we all know that _stop_ cant be used as a _safe_ word. It has to be something we don't howl out in pleasure… something like… Ah… I cant think. Can you Spencer? But _stop_ isn't a good safe word… I'm like a dirty bitch in heat sometimes, I know that. I cant stop myself. You smell nice Spencer. I can smell Floyd on you. You let him fuck you… will you do me? Will you have me Spencer? I'll let you be the dominant one if you want… or you can pretend I'm a young pretty Floyd. I'm older than I look but I'm aging better than Floyd is and he's not here, so I can substitute and I'll ram myself up you… or you can do me… either way…'

How Reid found the back of his legs hitting the foot of his bed he didn't know. He had no idea how he had moved from the kitchen doorway to the bedroom… he had no memory of moving.

'You can hit me. Hit me Spencer. Go on… fight me… slap me… do what you want. I'm saying you can hurt me if you want. I know you like it when Floyd hurts you… you can dominate… go on – be the man for once! I want to see the marks on my body in the morning… or later… need to be able to see them so I know it really happened. I want to see your raw knuckles. I need you to bite.'


	10. Chapter 10

10

Do You Love Me?

It was a question Sam kept asking and one which Spencer refused to answer.

'Do you love me?'

This wasn't how you showed someone love! This was lust. This was not love at all. This was dirty, painful, heart stopping greed.

'Do you love me?'

Sam's voice got more demanding as skin slid against skin. 'Mmmrr…' Was about all Spencer could articulate and that really could have meant anything. It certainly wasn't a _safe_ word.

'Hit me again!'

'Again?' Spencer managed to say into the back of Sam's neck.

'Like before… I need to feel it! I have to know you're there.'

Spencer was holding Sam with one arm around his middle and another hand on his hip. How could he _not_ know he was there? 'Before?' Spencer hadn't hit Sam. He was sure of it and now things started to turn a bit strange. Sam hauled himself forward trying to pull out of Spencer's hot grasp… he wriggled a writhed and managed to get away from Spencer and roll onto his back.

'Fuck me properly!' Sam moved his feet up and slammed them down towards Reid's surprised face. Spencer managed to move quickly enough to avoid being kicked in the face but now he was angry. 'Fuck me!' Sam was howling at him and now on his hands and knees crawling over the bed towards Spencer who just slid back and knelt on the floor.

'Sam…'

'Sam what? What are you running from? Come on… you can see I'm all grown up! HA! You can see! What's stopping you?' Sam struck Spencer across the face with a strong backhand. The small diamond in the ring made a red welt over Spencer's cheek. He went to try again but this time Spencer was ready and grabbed at Sam's hand.

'Stop it!' Reid yelled at Sam. 'Just stop it! What's wrong with you?'

Sam seemed to have become a creature made only of arms, legs and teeth. He bit and spat and tried to scratch and kick. He pinched and squeezed and finally Reid got a good hold on Sam and he pushed him back.

For Reid what happened next was so frightening he wanted to puke. Sam flew back and smacked his head on the corner of the chest of drawers. For Sam as he slid to the floor it was all a carefully thought out plan. He'd not hurt his head, but now he was going to get Spencer all hot and bothered and maybe…

'Sam… oh god…' Spencer knelt at his side and put the back of one of his hands to Sam's cheek. 'You'll be all right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Oh god. Wait there. I'll get you something.'

Sam let out a soft moan and waited for Spencer to go and get whatever he thought could help before he opened an eye. He then carefully opened the other and with all the skills he had started to cry soft pathetic tears.

'Drink this. It's… it's whiskey.'

Sam accepted it with shaking hands and sipped it slowly. 'You could have killed me.' He whined. 'I could have broken my neck.'

'I don't know what happened. What were you doing? Why?'

'I just like it rough Spence. I love it rough. I like to be bruised and bitten. I watch the bruises slowly fade day after day and each time I look at them I remember each bite and kick and slap.'

'But that's not how it should be.' Spencer took the empty tumbler from Sam. 'Come here.' Arms out ready. 'I'll just hold you for a while.'

Sam slid across the floor on his bare butt and crawled onto Spencer's equally bare lap. He wrapped his arms around Spencer and Reid stroked Sam's hair and ran fingers over the marks and bruises Sam already had on his face. 'This isn't love Sam. Getting someone… forcing someone to hurt you doesn't mean that they love you. If they love you then they care for you and protect you.'

'Well I guess I wouldn't know. I've only ever known it like this, but that's Floyd's influence. It always starts off nice and then I just need so much more than some people want to offer. It's why I whore. Any old back room or alley way you can get someone to do it if you pay.' Sam broke out into calculated sobs and let the tears fall. 'Oh my neck hurts so much.' Sam then moved so he was on his side facing Reid's stomach and went to sleep. At least he pretended to go to sleep. He'd not finished with Spencer yet. He'd shown Reid that he was needy. He'd shown him how vulnerable he was. He'd shown him his spiteful side and how easy it was to hurt him… and now he was going to keep Spencer sitting on the bedroom floor worrying if he's done damage to him. Sam curled up tighter and made small whimpering sounds and Spencer just sat and stroked him and wondered how long he was going to be stuck there on the floor.

He thought of getting up and putting Sam on the bed but then would he feel that he was being pushed away again? Spencer thought of the gun and how Sam had pressed it against his skin. He thought of the way the small knife had dug into Sam's chest. He thought what Floyd would do if he came back and found Sam splattered up the wall – or even lying dead with a broken neck where he'd pushed him away one final time. 'Sam… Lay on the bed and I'll stay with you.' He managed to lift Sam onto the messed up bed and then curled up behind him with his arms tight. Pulling him close. Offering him the comfort which Floyd had given _him_ so many times in the past. He could see the red mark on the back of Sam's neck and he found that kissing it better for him just seemed like the right thing to do. He pulled covers up over them and pressed his hand hard against Sam's chest feeling the way his heart was pounding. Spencer knew that what he was doing was wrong… not because of what other people might think; he didn't care what Morgan or Rossi or even Hotch would think. It's frankly not their business. He was however very concerned about what Floyd would think and do.

But then Sam's soft body rocked against him. His sweet smell of roses wafted up Spencer's nose and he pulled Sam closer and bit down on his shoulder and gave Sam what he'd been so desperately seeking.

And yes… Spencer was aware that he was a slut. Spencer was very aware of that. Why else did he have condoms and lube? Why else did he have sex toys in the drawer and boxes of tissues under the bed? Why else did he keep his work friends out of this room? It was because if Morgan particularly ever saw some of the things Spencer had hidden in his room there would be no end of questions he was unwilling to answer.

In Which Floyd Thinks.

I am fully aware of my situation. I may not have been yesterday but today I am. They've removed the straight jacket and upon seeing that I am as calm as a cucumber they take me down to talk to someone. I'm not much in the mood for talking, but sometimes you have to do things you don't like or end up in a dungeon. I need to get out of here. I've instructed my brain… my self, that – I will not kill. I will talk my way out of this and see if I can go via a legal route first.

I am asked by this gent in a jacket which makes your eyes go funny if you look at it for too long (and if you stroke it you get told to sit down again) so I stop looking at the jacket – anyway he asks me if I hear voices.

Very carefully I explain that I'm not fucking deaf and of course I hear voices and if I couldn't what the fuck would be the point in sitting here talking? He goes on to explain that he meant when I'm alone… Now this can be answered in many ways and the most honest is probably that I'm never really alone. No one ever is.

'If there are voices…' I say in a very reasonable voice. '…and I can hear them, then surely I am not alone. You know that question _If a tree falls in a forest blah blah blah does it make a noise_? Do you know the answer to that?' It seems that he might but he'd like to hear my version of the answer anyway. 'The answer is no. Sound needs a receiver. If there is no receiver there is no sound. You need ears or some kind of equipment to be able to pick up the sound and hear it.' He's nodding at me. 'So what I'm getting at…' I pause and ask him to remove his jacket as it's making my brain scream. Maybe I should have said it was giving me a headache… but that's not strictly true. He does though. '… what I'm trying to say is that we all have voices, we don't all have receivers. I do.'

So now he's asking me how long I've heard voices and is there more than one and I have to explain that it really depends on how many people are talking. It makes perfect sense to me… not to him it seems. He tells me that I was speaking in Latin earlier and I ask him what's so dreadful about that and he cant really answer my question. He wants to know if I do that often and I shrug.

'Tell me…' I enquire of this man. '… did the tests come back and discover anything awry with my brain? You had me stuck in the fucking machine for a reason. What were you looking for and did you find it?'

He looks at his notes and runs a finger down the page and then looks up at me. 'The MRI found nothing.'

'Not even the cockroach?' Fuck… shouldn't have said that. 'I mean… nothing? So I'm fit? Am I to be considered a threat to anyone?'

'Your bloods came back with very interesting results though.' He jabbed at some writing on the page.

'Sometimes I get a bit…' I pause and stand and then sit again and scratch at my neck and then shrug. '…high, but you know it's nothing illegal.'

'You smoke strange mixtures of chemicals.'

'And snort them too. They ease my mind. Except for when they don't. Sometimes they give me odd hallucinations…'

'Rat poison.' The man tells me.

'Oh _that_. That's not normal. I don't usually do that. Really I meant that for Saaa… for… for a rat. Not me. The rat has to be kept on his toes don't you think or the world becomes infested. Nasty things. Spread disease… they bite… have parasites. I didn't mean to take rat poison. That's what I did? You'd not think that snorting it would do that would you? I suppose though… causes bleeding… maybe? I really should mark the bags I keep things in… all white powders look the same when you're already not really here. I'll do that. Thank you for the warning. I'll go now shall I?'

He doesn't look satisfied with my answers though and starts asking me more things. 'Have you ever or do you have suicidal thoughts.'

I laugh and tuck my hair behind my ears and then lean forward with my elbows resting on my knees. 'No. Absolutely not. What's the point in that? Well maybe once I have… I had this vision once of jumping, but as…' I stop and look at the doctor. I don't really think I should tell him that I only didn't jump was because Sam refused to jump with me. '…it's not like it's…' I pause again and he's staring at me waiting for an answer he's going to be happy with. 'It wasn't suicidal as much as delusional I'd say, though the end result would be the same. I just think it would be a great experience to fall from a great height – wind rushing through your hair, the sky… nothing but...' I pause again. 'I realise that the end result is death and so that's why I didn't do it. I wish though quite often that I could fly again.'

'You were a pilot?' He asks me stupidly.

'No. I had wings, but lost them due to my sexual activities and other things which were deemed unreasonable in a perfect society. A society which was made up entirely of beautiful men and boys. Really what sort of fool would do that and not expect a bit of anal fun to occur. Anyway… beside the point really and in the past. Cant go back. Life is shit but no, I don't want to kill myself again.'

I said _again_… and he's looking at me and making notes.

'Again?' He picked up on it. Why _that_? When I'd said all that other shit why pick up on that one thing? Well it's to piss me off. The other stuff he's writing down to me being crackers but this he's making note of because… well because he's a mother fucking whore dog's turd. I bite down on my lip and avoid voicing my opinion. 'Again as in Trying To Kill Myself… not as in I Have Died and Been Reborn.' I don't have to elucidate and let him know that I _did_ actually mean the latter. 'Do you believe in reincarnation?' I suddenly say and he's giving me that _please continue_ look so I do. 'Well I'm just saying that some people do and so if I did then saying that I've been reborn wouldn't bee such a crazy statement would it?'

'Indeed not. Do you believe in re-incarnation?' He's scribbling down notes.

'They say that if you're not shriven that you walk forever in purgatory.' That should explain everything to him but he's giving me that sign to carry on again. 'Well I wasn't shriven.' I gesture around myself. 'This is my purgatory I think… one day when my penance has been completed I will be allowed back again, but you see the problem with that don't you?' Of course he must see the problem…but nope… that gesture again. 'A true penitent wouldn't keep on doing what he's in trouble for. I cant be an anchorite. That's really what they want, but I cant do that. I wont do that. What the fuck have they ever done for me except give me free will and then tell me that my reasoning was all twisted? Can you see what I mean?'

Oh he can! A minor miracle… False alarm…

He has no fucking idea what I'm talking about.

'You belonged to a religious order?'

I shake my head, not in denial but more in frustration. If I tell this man the deep down honest truth then I'll be locked away. If I tell him half truths maybe he'll just think I'm a bit odd. 'No… no, no, no… not as such no, but maybe, but not as you'd see it. It was and still is a way of life rather than a religion. It's just how you are. Not what you are… or maybe it _is_ what you are and not who you are? I don't know. It confuses me sometimes. It I suppose was like…' I wonder how I can possibly compare it. '…have you read or seen any of those gay porn movies or books about the rooms full of lovely boys possibly pool boys with beautiful oiled skin and dripping wet most of the time… well imagine living in a place like that and being told you couldn't touch.'

Oh… he's looking blank.

'You've never read or seen something like that?'

'No I haven't.' He tells me.

I snatch up a pen off his desk and pull his note pad over and write down some good examples for him. 'Best watched alone with a lot of hand cream.' I grin at him. 'Or with someone who doesn't mind you sticking your…' I stop and push the pad and pen back. 'Are you gay?'

He tells me that it's very unlikely that he'd be watching or reading anything like I've advised he should and I tell him that a good doctor would do as he cant possibly expect to understand the inner pain of someone who has suffered a life time in purgatory if he doesn't do research. I am informed by this good man that he's never until this moment felt that he was lacking in the skills needed. I tell him that he's a stupid fucker. He asks me not to swear at him. I tell him he's a… Well a female body part and he calls for someone to take me back to my room unless I can curb my tongue and calm down.

I am calm. 'Fine! But I'm no anchorite and never will be and so don't sit there awaiting the miracle cos it's just not going to happen.'

Now we get down to the questions of my lifestyle which I don't really think is any of his business and I don't know what bearing it has on what's going on. So he wants to know my sexual orientation and I tell him that I like stuffing my cock up arse and again I'm asked to curb my tongue and I tell him that I like sliding my tongue into soft crevices too and again he asks me to think before I speak. I inform him that I like to fuck boys. He asks me how old the boys are and I tell him that they're all old enough to take a ten inch bit of… and he cuts me off there. But you know and I know and he might soon know that ten inches is a bit of an exaggeration.

'I don't screw kids.' I tell him. 'Are you worried I mess with kids? I don't. It's not my thing anymore than cunny and tits are. I hope that clears that up for you.'

Now he's asking if I have a regular partner. 'I have a few.' This causes a sudden blast of writing. 'I'm not a whore.' I inform him. 'My partners are though.' Not sure if this is really explaining much at all. 'I like sluts.' I let him know.

He goes onto the next subject: do I take drugs. And he knows the answer to that already and so I don't bother answering. He goes onto if I drink. 'To excess.' I let him know. 'I am a high end dependant whiskey drinker.' He makes notes and asks if I consider myself alcoholic. 'Absolutely. If that means that your very existence depends on if you have enough alcohol buzzing through your blood, but I'm not the paper bag and cider sort. I can go without if there's nothing around I expect. I've never been in that situation. I'm not a drunk. I never get drunk. I hardly ever get drunk. I never drink until I pass out… or puke… at least not often.'

He wants to know where I get the money to pay for drink and drugs and whores and I tell him that I am independently wealthy and I have enough money to last me a hundred life times and still only scratch the surface. 'It's one of the problems I think. If you have money to do whatever you want, if money is never a barrier against anything… what the fuck is there to look forward to? I've done everything, been everywhere, tasted, licked, drank, snorted, smoked, listened to, fucked… I've been invited to exclusive parties by the rich and famous and I've had their sons… what else is there to do? What's to do? How can I get a buzz from something when I can have whatever I want virtually by clicking my fingers? Well I just take what I want. I don't bother asking. I just reach in… and take. Why not? Why shouldn't I? Why cant I do that?'

He's staring at me. 'Have you got a home address?'

I give him Spencer's address.

He wants telephone numbers which I don't know and email addresses which don't exist. He wants names of my parents and I sigh and rest my nose on his desk and tell him that he's just wasting time. 'I'm fine. I'll just get my things and go home. I want to go home. I'm trying to co-operate but you're asking so many daft questions and you've gagged my filthy mouth so I cant say what I need. I'll go.' I stand.

'You can go back to your room. I need to discuss this with someone and we will decide if it's safe for you to leave. You will be here at least one more night and I am going to suggest therapy which I will expect you to attend.'

'Was thinking of going on holiday.'

'I think that's a fine idea. But firstly I need to discuss your case and see if medication might help you with some of the problems.'

I nod. I don't know what problems. I didn't know I had any, but I guess I have.

When I go back to my room I find a half naked girl in my bed. I drag her out of it, hold her against the wall and punch her once on the nose. She screams like I've done something bad and runs with her tits jiggling and her panties crawling up the crack of her skinny arse. What a fucking day! I get into bed with my lovely visitors pyjamas on (dark blue sweatpants and white Tshirt) and pull the covers over my head and give a good show of being asleep. So good actually that I slide off into some kind of dream about pretty young men with oiled bodies.

Phone Call

Father Green stood in his small but tidy lounge with the phone in his hand. He was holding it so tightly that his knuckles were white and was listening to the voice on the other end. He nodded occasionally and then started pacing. 'Something has happened.' He said when finally being put through to the right person. 'I need an emergency transfer.' He paced and listened again. He was squeezing the phone so tightly he thought he was going to crush it. 'I had a list of young men I've helped at the shelters. They've all but one been murdered. The police want my list. It's gone. Now I am being accused by that other… that _one_… of…' He was cut off and again he was pacing. The room was too hot. There was no air. There was hardly a floor to walk on. Everything felt disjointed and out of place. 'I understand Your Excellency.' He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it and listened to the sound of the phone disconnected from the other end.

He ran. He thumped up the stairs, dragged a bag out of the wardrobe and stuffed it with personal belongings. He hurtled back down stairs again, took the folder of paperwork and stuffed that in the bag too. He paced for a while running his fingers through his hair. The sound of a car horn jolted him back to now. He grabbed the bag, took a quick look around himself and then left. As he got into the back of the big black car outside the home he knew he'd never be coming back to the driver said. 'The Church always looks after his own Father Green.'

Green slammed the car door and the car drove away. 'Thank God.' He said and quickly crossed himself.

Just Like Everyone Else.

Nothing changes and I don't see why I expected different. Once again I awaken to find that the person I was hugging when I fell asleep has gone. Sam has gone. I glance over at the door hoping that I'd see him crouched there, but no. The door is closed. The bed is cold. I should have known better, really I should have. Sam has learned all from Floyd so of course he's going to act the same. I shiver slightly and slide off the bed, grabbing the bathrobe which's laying in a mess on the floor. At least if Sam is up and walking around he's not dead. At least I assume he's not dead. If he is and is up and walking about then I've fallen into a whole different sort of nightmare. There's no smell of coffee brewing. There is actually no sound of anything. I call Sam's name and there's no reply. He's gone. Totally gone. I walk to the lounge and my heart drops so fast and furiously that I think that it's going to kill me. I do go down to my knees and I do have to hold back a scream of anger. My books are scattered over the floor. I can put them back. _That's_ not the problem. The problem is the metal box laying with the lid open on the coffee table. The problem is my desk drawer left open. The problem is that Sam has taken my side arm and I have no idea where he's gone.

I know it always seems overly dramatic when someone pulls their hair and cries in anger and frustration but that's what I find I'm doing now. How could he do this? And what on earth does he have planned? I don't know how long I stay there for just moaning and making odd noises which I usually reserve for when Floyd is about to do something… and then I get up and walk to the bathroom. The cabinet over the basin is open and the pot of pain killers is gone. So have my vitamins. What would he want with my vitamins? I note that my supply of blades for my razor have also gone but the razor it self is still there. I have to find him. I don't know if this is going to be damage he wants to do to himself or to someone else. I run back to the bedroom and pull on clean clothes and then I make a phone call to Father Green. There is no answer. No answer… either he's not there or I'm too late. And there's only one way to find out which. I have to go see for myself.

I don't like driving. It's not something I find a pleasure at all, but today I think I will. If I can locate Sam I need somewhere to take him to and get him back home again. And I need to report that my gun has been taken, again I'm breaking all the rules and I'm going to see if I can just get it back from him first. The last thing I need now is for people to go chasing him down and forcing him to do something he'd not otherwise do.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Sam's Screaming Rant.

So I took the gun and legged it. What's he going to do now? He'll sit and sulk and wait for me to come back because in the end he's just a stupid fucker. My cunning plan is to go and see Father Green and give him one last chance to do what's right.

I don't fucking know what's right anymore. He abused his privilege and position and then abused me. And then he made me go and kill those others and that was _his_ fault and not mine! And I wont take the fucking blame for him causing me to do things which I wouldn't do unless so distressed by his FILTHY actions… that I totally like lost my fucking mind.

It's come to the point now where I don't know what really went on. But I think that's because I'm so fucking distressed over it all that I cant control myself anymore.

I'm insane.

I might end up being locked up somewhere but only until I'm better. I will plead insanity if they catch me. Floyd will pay out for some corrupt lawyer and all will be good. I'll have to take some kind of punishment… But that's only if I'm caught and this is Spencer's gun and he's going to be in shit too for letting me use it isn't he? I would imagine so. And he's not bonkers and he will end up in prison and he'll feel what it's like to be raped and no one fucking believing you.

I've stopped running for a bit cos my head's gone all swimmy. But I'm thinking that maybe I'm wrong and it's more like I abused the priest. Was that how this all started? I really cant remember anymore. I would deny it though. Priests get killed all the time. No one thinks much of it anymore do they? It's not like in the sixteen hundreds when you couldn't go after a priest so easily. You had to be real fucking careful and let them come to you first. Pick on the wrong one and you're buggered – no pun intended at all, but you know what I mean? You had to be sure he was a molester and pervert first or they'd have you hanging by your sweet soft pale neck and you'd be one dead fag. OK… my head's feeling much better now and I'm sort of regretting bringing the gun cos I don't want to be forced to use it, but the priest only lives just around the corner. It's a ten minute walk from where I am now leaning against a wheelie bin and taking in the sweet smells of old sex and damp bodies. I've worked this place before. You don't get much here but an itch and a prescription for something to cure the rash. Which reminds me that I have Spencer's meds with me, but I'm going to keep them for now… I need such a clear head for what I'm about to do next and I've though got this fucking plan in my head something keeps twisting it and making me want to do something else.

I'm now standing in front of his door and all the lights are out, but it's only early morning, but not so early he'd be sleeping and not so late that he'd be out. I hope not anyway. So I knock on the door and wait a bit. Then I ring the bell over and over again and nothing. I press my ear to the door and listen and still cant hear a thing. I push open the letter box and peer in and see nothing at all. His coat which hangs on a hook just inside the door is gone. He's not here. I kick at the door and scream and I make so much fuss and noise that I don't hear the footsteps behind me and I don't know that there is someone there until a stinking hand belonging to that mother fucking Mary-Agnes settles on my shoulder.

'He's not here.' Her voice says and I swing around and somehow the gun is in my hand and I'm waving it at her.

'Why the fuck not? Where is he? I'm going to kill the bastard for what he's done to me!' I almost hope that she asks what that is but she doesn't. I was going to give her some details and see her go hot and weak at the knees with the imagery.

'There's no point in getting angry with me Sam. I didn't send him away. He left very early this morning.'

I wave the gun around a bit and though I hate the bitch I'd not shoot her but I don't want her to know that. She doesn't look scared though. 'When will he be back?'

She fucking steps past me and has a key in her hand and is unlocking the door.

'A temporary replacement will be sent. Father Green wont be back.'

'Where is he?' Somehow the gun is back in my pocket.

'Sam, I think you've caused enough problems for Father Green. I'm not going to tell you where he's gone and if you come back here again and try to threaten me or anyone else I will call the police. You're a lucky young man.' She walks through the door.

'I don't feel lucky. I feel abused and raped and shat on and abandoned.' I manage to get a bit of a lip quivering going on.

'You are lucky.' She says again. 'Because you're not in some locked ward somewhere. You need help Sam. I suggest that you seek it in places other than the church. I don't get the feeling that this is the right environment for you.'

'What do you mean by that? You're turning me away?'

She gave me a small half smile and started to close the door. 'Yes. And if you're not off the premises within five minutes I will call the police and tell them you have a weapon and are a threat. See how lucky you day is becoming?' And BANG the door is shut and I'm left standing on the doorstep like a fucking idiot. I should have killed her when I had the chance. I go and sit on the church steps but I think that she'll know I'm there and call someone and I'll have cops pointing guns at me.

I feel so sick.

I feel so sick and tired. I should have stayed with Spencer. I think I'm so confused because of the hit I got on the back of my neck. I think this is all Spencer's fault. If he'd been nice to me and… I rub at sore spot on my shoulder and smile miserably to myself. I guess in the end he was nice to me. I go and sit on a small brick wall and look at the ground. I'm going to count to fifty and then go back to Spencer's place. There's no point in hanging around here. I pull out the pain killers and pop one into my mouth when I count the number one. I keep going until I'm on twenty something and I've a real nasty taste in my mouth and I feel even more sick than I did before and I know I'm crying because I'm feeling so fucking sorry for myself and I want Floyd so badly it's physically hurting and causing a terrible buzzing in my ears and then suddenly someone is standing in front of me. I can see who it is by the crappy shoes he's got on his feet.

'I've not done anything.' I think I say that but talking makes me want to puke. Spencer kneels down right in my vomit line of fire. He's going to regret kneeling there if I puke-vomit all over him.

'You took my gun.' Spencer accuses.

'I've not used it.' I sulk back at him.

'You think that makes it all right to do?' Spencer seems mad… I take another pill and look at him in the face as I crunch down.

'Do you love me? I ask him.

He sighs and puts out his hand and I give him the pack of vitamins. 'I need the gun back Sam. Now.' He wont take them from me.

I drop the vitamins onto the ground and take out the gun and point it at Spencer. 'Do you love me?' I ask again.

He nods slowly. 'I'm here aren't I?'

I stand up and push the gun close to his shoulder. 'That's not what I fucking well asked! That's not a bloody answer! I want to know if you love me or not! I want to know if you're going to abandon me like everyone else does! I want to know! I need to know if you're like everyone else.'

Spencer doesn't move. He just blinks a few times and then licks his lips. 'Sam – If I say now that I love you it will mean nothing. I thought we'd talked about this. Give me the gun. Stop chewing on the pills. Then we will talk. We will go and have coffee somewhere and talk about this.'

I throw the gun down on the ground next to Spencer. It makes a horrible clack sound. I hadn't loaded it. The bullets are in my pocket. When Spencer picks up the gun I pull them out and hand them over. 'I'd not have shot anyone.' I tell him. I just…

Spencer is shaking his head. 'Sam… this is the end.'

'What do you mean?' He snatches the bullets from me and everything is put in his pocket. 'What are you talking about?'

'Get in the car.' He snaps nastily at me.

I want to know where we're going cos I have a feeling it wont be back to his place. 'Spencer where are we going? I'm sorry!' He opens the car door and prods my back until I get in. He slams it and walks to the drivers side and gets in. 'Where are we going?'

'I should take you to see Hotch.' He is in a pissed mood it seems. 'But I'm going to take you to the ER and see if you've taken enough pills to kill you. I'm almost hoping you have.'

'I thought you wanted me! I thought you'd never abandon me!' I wail as he pulls away. 'You said we were going for a coffee and a chat! You lied to me! You're like everyone else.'

'Grow up Sam. Stop talking and behaving like a spoilt child. You have taken too many pills. That's you not me. Don't you go blaming me for any of this. I will take you to ER and we will make sure you are well. Then we will discuss other things. I'm not going to talk to you about my emotional feelings about you all the time you continue to betray and harm yourself and behave like a child. You're a grown adult Sam. Learn to behave like one. Take responsibility for your own actions. Stop accusing other people of running out and abandoning you when you push everyone away and drive them to despair.'

I shut up. I don't want to hear this shit. I puke all over my lap and down my legs and onto the floor of his car though. Serves him fucking well right.

Floyd Talks About Spencer.

Floyd's day started out with being forced to swallow a bucket full of medication. He tried to refuse and he was given some options… he chose after considering those options which ranged from injections to going back into a straightjacket that to swallow the damned things might be the best choice. He was far from happy about it. He let them know. They offered him a padded room and so he calmed down again. He was given some orange juice to drink, which tasted slightly warm – (he made a loud messy complaint about that and didn't drink it.) He was given something which might have been a porridge type thing which he stirred around in his bowl and enquired if they'd mistaken him for a pig and shouldn't they be giving slops to a porker and not someone who was obviously suffering. They explained to him that he needed to eat something. They wanted to know when he last ate. Floyd couldn't answer that. Food wasn't the most important thing in his life and he had no clue how many days had passed since… well since anything really. He seemed to be stuck in a timeless fog. He wanted to go back to his room but was informed that there was someone here who would like to talk to him about something. He was taken to a small room with a couch and a desk and asked to sit at the desk. Someone was going to be right with him. He sat and sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips. He felt horribly tired which was stupid because he'd been sleeping for what felt like years so it must have been the medication. Floyd made the decision to not take any more of the crap they offered him.

A door opened and Floyd turned to see who it was.

'Agent Aaron Hotchner. What a lovely surprise. I see you've dressed down for the occasion. I must say I'm disappointed. I love to see you get all sweaty in your suit. Jeans and Tshirt for me though huh? Well welcome, take a seat, have a laugh. What is it I can do for you?'

Hotch just stood at the door looking at Floyd for a minute. Maybe he was trying to decide if he considered Floyd to be _safe_ to be locked in a room with. He nodded a greeting and sat down the other side of the desk which was secured to the floor with metal L shaped things.

'You're looking well.' Hotch said.

Floyd wasn't sure what to make of that statement. 'You were expecting something else? Why are you here?'

Hotchner placed a folder down on the desk and Floyd frowned at it. This always meant the same thing. He was here to question him about something which he may or may not have been a party to. Hotch pulled out a photograph and pushed it over to Floyd who stared down at the grainy picture and then looked up at Hotch.

'Do you know this person?'

Floyd blinked and looked down at it again. Of course he knew him. He knew him intimately. 'No. Should I?'

Hotch tapped the photograph and asked Floyd to look more carefully. He said. 'That's what I'm trying to find out.'

'A wasted journey for you Hotchner.' Floyd rubbed at his eyes again and then rested fists on his temples. 'I feel slightly tired. Can you come back when I'm not so… sedated?'

'I think now is a good time to talk to you Floyd. This man was killed Christmas Eve.'

Floyd pushed the picture away. 'That's nice. I arrive back in the city just in time for you to pin a murder on me. I'm rather flattered. I've not been well Agent Aaron Hotchner… killing people has not really been something I've been considering.'

Hotch pulled out a slip of paper and passed it to Floyd. It was a coroners report. 'Please read that carefully.' He said.

And Floyd did. He read it once and then read it again. He ran his finger down the paper and frowned at a couple of bits and then looked up at Hotch. 'OK I can see why you thought this might have been me, but it wasn't. I'm not the only murdering sodomite cannibal whore junky motherfucker on the planet and I was actually at home Christmas Eve. Ask Spencer.'

'At home? Do you mean at Reid's apartment?' He sounded pissed off about something and Floyd started to feel suddenly very hot. The chair it seemed was constructed in such a manner to make someone start to slide off it. Floyd gripped onto the desk to keep himself from sliding under it.

'The apartment might well be in Reid's name but I pay all bills associated with it. Everything from the rent to the… to the… utilities… and the other crap stuff… I'm falling asleep. But so yes… or no…' He paused and adjusted how he was sitting again. 'So what I'm trying to say is that Reid is perfectly happy to accept my money to pay for where he lives and so I would count it as my place too wouldn't you Agent Aaron Hotchner? I have a key, the alarm code, the door codes… it's my place. If that was all you wanted to talk to me about then you can fuck off. I'm falling asleep here.'

Hotch placed the bits of paper back into the folder. 'Wherever you go we will know.' He tells Floyd. 'You do something, anything from being pulled up for speeding to buying a pint in a bar on a card and we will know.'

'Nice to be that popular. I could have you arrested for stalking. That's got to be illegal. I suppose you've had my name on your system for a while. Just waiting for it to pop up flashing red where you? I'm sorry to disappoint. I've no involvement in any murders or rapes or any such fucking stuff.' Floyd stood and then sat back down again. 'You know if you've been watching out for me that I've done nothing for a while and what I actually mean by that is there's been no imaginary crime you could pin on me. Now do you think that might be because I've not actually done anything? It's worth a thought Hotchner don't you think? It's not me you need to be watching. You're wasting resources and you're wasting my time.'

Hotch picked up the folder but kept his eyes firmly on Flanders. 'I hate to burst your over inflated bubble Flanders, but it's not just you we're watching. Anyone connected to you – any squeak from anyone and we know.' He paused waiting for some kind of reaction but it looked to Hotch as though he'd lost Floyd's interest completely. It looked as though Floyd was going to fall asleep. 'Sam.' He said the one word and regained Floyd's attention immediately.

'What about him?'

'When did you last see him?'

'I'm going to have to say that I don't want to answer questions about Sam. It's none of your fucking business when I last saw him and as I'm not in an official fuck up I'm going to tell you to piss off. By fuck up I mean you've not arrested me and I've not been cautioned. You're just sticking your fucking nose in where it's not wanted. How's Jack? When did you last see him? He must be growing fast. He'll be a man before you know what's happened. You'll be an old fucked up ex-Fed and I'll still be out there screwing with your head and fucking your son. How long until he's old enough? Fifteen years? Ten years? Somewhere in between I think… I hope you'll still have that slag Garcia looking at her fucking computers awaiting my name to pop up then Aaron. Keep your loved ones close. You've messed up once. Don't let it happen again. But as this is off the record and nothing I say here can be used in evidence and you're not recording it and no one is listening and you're not writing anything down and I'm surely going to deny every fucking thing I say… Jack _will_ be mine.'

Floyd then placed his arms on the table, rested his head down and looked as though he was about to sleep. Hotchner sat and stared at the man the other side of the desk and slowly stood. 'I will get you eventually. I will…'

'Is that so? Well be quick Aaron… your time is running out. Go play with your boy while you have the chance.'

'Don't you threaten me or my family.' The rage in Hotch's voice wasn't even slightly disguised.

Flanders glanced up and smirked. 'It wasn't a threat Aaron. I promise to take very good care of your son. Look how well I care for my own. My apologies if you thought it was a threat. It's this damned medication. I really do need to sleep now. Have a safe journey home. It would be such a shame for that sweet boy to be orphaned at such an early age.'

Hotchner wanted to say more. Hotchner wanted to reach over the desk and throttle Flanders. Hotch's hand went to his throat. It felt like his tie was choking him, but there was no tie there. He left the room without saying more. It seemed the more he wanted to know the more Flanders was going to say things just to give Hotch the excuse to kill him and that was exactly what Floyd wanted right now. Floyd would have loved a fight… but Hotchner walked away and left him dozing with his head on the table.

Garcia's Mutterings.

I was just clearing up… sorting through things which need to be sorted through. I hate my computers getting in a muddle. I love the peace and order they give me. Computers are my best friend. I really don't like it when I'm called to do things with them that I don't like. Hotch is standing behind my chair saying nothing and I know he's going to either ask what he thinks is impossible or he's going to ask me something I don't want to do. I turn and look at his face and it's going to be a _I don't want to do it_ situation. I can see by the expression on his face and I know we don't have a real active case right now.

'Sir?' I ask him.

He pulls up a chair and sits down next to me. I don't like this one bit. This is going to be bad news I sure of it. Have lost my job? Surely that news would come from someone else unless he's asked to drop the bombshell. I can feel my cheeks are burning with the panic which is begging to fill me.

'I want you to do something for me. Off the record.'

Uh oh. I pick up a pen with a fluffy top and fiddle with it and then put it down again and pick up the knitted banana and then I put that down again and I close down the windows I had open and pick up the fluffy topped pen again. 'Is it going to get me into trouble?' I ask him. Though I am sure he'd not ask if he thought it would.

'I have concerns… I need to know something about one of my agents.'

I pull a face at him. I don't like the sound of where this is going. I put the pen down and stare at the monitors. It's times like this that my best friends betray me and they feel like turncoats. The lovely peaceful order they bring me is shattered. 'I see.' But of course I don't. I just don't know what else to say. 'What would you like me to find out?'

'I need to know who is paying Reid's utility bills.'

I heard him wrong and turn to look at him. I remove my glasses and clean them and then put them back on again and frown. 'Reid's utility bills sir?' It sounds like such a ridiculous request and the words just all feel so wrong in my mouth that I think I'm going to laugh.

'I want a list. All his utility bills and rent. I need to know who's paying it. I'll wait.'

I personally would have assumed that Reid was paying them, but Hotch wouldn't be asking if he was would he? Is Reid in debt? Is he in financial trouble? I don't know that I want to see what's going to turn up but my fingers just play over the keys and I run a couple of programs and have a quick look. A couple of glances at Hotch probably let him know that what I'm looking at I wasn't expecting.

'I don't know.' I tell him after a few minutes. 'It doesn't say. There's money paid in regularly but not from Reid's account… not in Reid's name and before you ask I cant tell you who it is.' I should be able to but the programme throws me back to a previous page every time I try to get the name. It's as though there's a bug or glitch there. 'It wont let me see the name of the account holder, but it's in Italy… I can tell you that much. Each month different amounts are paid to different companies which have been registered with Reid… the rent, the electricity, water, even his tax… everything is paid at least a week in advance via the same account in Italy. Why Italy?' I sort of ask Hotch that hoping for an answer but I'm asking my stupid computer the question too. 'His car insurance, life insurance, house insurance, everything. Reid doesn't pay a thing out of his own accounts. His internet, television…' I pause and think about that. 'Reid doesn't own a television does he? But there's also a small amount paid into Reid's personal bank account from that one in Italy… and I cant access it. It's locked down with something which I will be able to get through eventually but it's going to take me a while.'

Hotch says absolutely nothing at all. He just sits there looking at my fingers and I'm wondering if he's as confused by this as I am. I think he probably is, but knows something… and that something is going to be passed to me right now.

'What about Flanders. Have you checked his banking recently?'

I prod the bridge of my glasses. 'It's the same as always sir. Small amounts withdrawn from various places. He never uses credit cards, at least not that I can trace and he never buys on the hock. Everything in cash upfront as far as I can tell.'

'I need to know where he gets his money from Garcia.'

I pick up the pen. I'm sure we've had this discussion before. 'I don't know where it comes… OH!' Quickly I spin back to the screen. 'Last time I checked on this there was… yes…' I point to the screen in a _taa daa_ sort of way but Hotch doesn't see what I see. 'He gets money paid into his account from an unknown source… I've never been able to trace that… but look. I go back to that place in Italy and there it is. I cant say for sure it's the same place but the exact same amounts are taken from this unknown odd account and deposited into Flanders account. And if you look at the timing…' I jab my pen towards the screen. '…For example at 2am he withdrawers five hundred dollars and two minutes later the same amount is deposited into his account. Now… if I go back and look at the account which is paying Reid's bills for him I can see at that exact same time that exact amount of money is paid to _unknown account_ here.'

Hotch sighs and stands. 'Thank you Garcia… and if you can just keep this between the two of us…'

'Of course! You don't have to even say… of course. Is Reid in trouble sir?'

He doesn't answer but leaves my bunker and lets the door close quietly behind him. I am about to close the windows but curiosity gets the better of me I have to know how long this has been going on. What I see makes my face go hot and I need a pee. I don't know if I should tell Hotch. I should. I know I should. But Reid? Why? All across my screen I'm getting "Paid in by unknown vendor" and not just for this year or last year even… not even going back to when he joined the BAU but going right the way back to when he was in high school. Quickly I close the little windows down. I don't think anyone needs to know that. Surely no one needs to know. I should tell Hotch. Even Reid's mothers medical bills are paid by this Unknown Vendor which I have such a nasty feeling is Flanders. Didn't I hear once that he spent a lot of time in southern Italy? Where did I hear that? Am I just imagining that because it fits?


	12. Chapter 12

12

Hotch Has Words With Spencer.

Reid got a call at around the same point that he was wondering how someone can produce so much vomit. He'd pulled the car over and Sam was sitting with his head between his legs puking violently. Spencer rubbed on Sam's back and where Sam's hair fell down the side of his face Reid could clearly see the mark on the back of his neck where Sam had caught himself when Spencer had pushed him away. He wasn't sure if it was the hot fumes coming from what Sam was expelling or the thought that he'd actually raised a hand to Sam which was making him feel ill. Although the weather was biting cold and once again rain had started to hammer down, Spencer rolled down the car windows to let some of the smell escape.

'Oh…' Sam moaned. 'You know I don't think I'll need a stomach pump. Can we just go home? I need a shower and a change of clothes.

Reid was just wondering where a change of clothes could be found when his phone started to ring. He pulled it from his pocket. 'Report in now.' Was all it said but it was enough to make that sickening feeling increase.

'Sam I have to go into work. I'll take you with me.'

Sam responded but puking some more. 'I don't want to go there. They'll string me up by my balls. Just take me home.'

Home… Sam seemed to have assumed he was moving in. What was he, a shelter for the homeless all of a sudden? 'I cant leave you there alone. You'll have to come with me.' Reid started to pull out and swung the car around to head in the right direction. 'I know that you have feelings of abandonment and I know how that feels Sam and I don't want you to think that's what I'm doing. I'm not going to take you to my apartment for your imagination to run riot again.'

Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at Spencer. 'Fine, I'll go with you, but if you think dragging me into where you work is going to make me think that you have any feelings for me other than contempt then you're wrong. I'd rather wait at home.'

Again he used that word. 'It's not your home Sam. I explained that already. I don't want you living with me. I share the apartment with Floyd.'

'No room for me? It's a big bed. I'll tell Floyd that you sodomised me. He wont like that. I'll tell Hotch that you did. I'll…'

'Don't make empty threats. Push me hard enough and you'll find I don't fall… I will simply walk away from you. Why would I have any feelings for someone who shows nothing but spite and anger in return? Tell Floyd… tell him… I know what he'll do.'

Sam wiped again at his mouth and frowned. 'Fuck you Spencer. Fuck you! Floyd will tear you apart if he knew. You'll be dead.'

Reid drove on in silence for a short while. 'I know what he'll do too Sam. How many times has Floyd had the excuse to _tear me apart_ and how many times has he done it? Think on that will you. Think where Floyd was at Christmas and where you were and decide for your self.'

Sam kicked at the facia board of the car. He punched at the windows which Spencer had rolled back up again. Then he just slumped into a sobbing lump. It wasn't the best situation. Spencer would rather have been able to tell Sam to wait somewhere else but he didn't want to have to worry about what Sam would do if he left him somewhere. He pulled up in the underground parking lot and told Sam to come with him. He would take him somewhere safe and maybe he could clean himself up a bit and someone would be there to keep an eye on him if he…

'… so that you know I'll be back.'

And then that chant again… 'But do you love me?' He clung onto Spencer's arm as they walked to the elevator. 'You either love me or you just used me. I need to know which it is.'

'Not now Sam.' Spencer guided him into the elevator car and pressed a button.

'It's always later… it's always not now. It's never the right time is it? You don't have to worry. I know the answer. I can deal with that.'

The elevator took them to the main lobby area. Reid escorted Sam over to security and asked them to find a room for Sam to wait in. He confirmed that he'd certainly be back. He started to walk away and then turned back to Sam. 'You have razor blades. You need to hand them to security for safe keeping.' Why did Spencer always feel that he was talking to a child when he spoke to Sam? 'Just empty your pockets and you'll get your things back later.' He then turned again and walked back to the elevator. It would be nice if Hotch didn't know he'd left Sam down in security. He didn't want questions asked about why. The doors dinged shut and Spencer leaned on the wall of the car and took deep breaths. He wasn't due into work again until the new year. Surely it wasn't that? Had he got his dates muddled in all of this mess? The doors opened again and Reid walked out and over towards Hotch's office. He had a feeling of doom in the pit of his stomach. The bull pen was empty apart from a couple of technicians. Hotch's door was open so he just tapped on the glass and waited for Aaron to look up.

'Come in Reid and close the door.' Hotch didn't look happy. Then again when did Hotch ever look happy?

Reid closed the door carefully and went and stood in front of Hotch's desk. He was told to sit… told… not asked… told. Again that unhappy feeling in Reid's stomach. He sat and looked down at his hands.

'Are you aware of how much trouble you could be in?' Hotch's voice was cold.

Spencer looked up and fixed his gaze on a photograph on the wall near to Hotch. 'For…?'

'How many times has Flanders been connected with incidences? No – you don't have to answer. I don't want a statistic Reid. You are aware that he has escaped by one fluke or technicality after another. You know what sort of a person he is.'

Reid kept his gaze fixed on the picture. 'I didn't invite him back. I thought he was gone.'

'Don't lie to me Reid. I've been to talk to Flanders. I've had certain things confirmed.'

Spencer was lost. He had no idea what Hotch was referring to. 'I'm sorry. I don't understand. What am I meant to have done? I've not had contact with him up until Christmas Eve and I certainly wasn't expecting contact.'

'Yet you take money from him regularly?' Hotch stood. 'You are his kept man Reid. He's been paying for everything for years. Why have you not informed us of this? Didn't you think it mattered that he had a hold over you like that?'

Spencer dragged his eyes from the picture and looked at his lap. 'I tried to stop it. I kept cancelling the payments coming in and they were just reset again. I changed my bank and still money was paid into my account. I requested it was stopped. They stopped it. Then the following month it all started back up again. I tried to stop it at source and couldn't. I couldn't trace where it was coming from.'

'And you didn't think it was important enough to say something to me? A serial killer is paying your bills and you don't say anything? What were you thinking? The man now has reason to believe you want him around! When Strauss hears about this…'

Reid stood. 'Maybe I do want him around.' He snapped at Hotch. 'Maybe I'd forgotten how much I need him around and this has to go no further than the two of us and I suspect Garcia as someone had to do your research for you….' Reid pulled his revolver out of his pocket. 'Here… take it. I don't have my ID on me. I will bring it in tomorrow. I resign.' Spencer sat back down again. 'I will compose a letter and bring it in tomorrow. I'm sorry that my personal life isn't to your liking.'

'It's not that.' Hotch sat back down again. 'We could have used information to trace Flanders.'

Spencer was now the one giving Hotch a cold look. 'As far as I'm aware he's not broken the law since he's been back. He's in hospital for a short stay and then he will be home again and I would have resigned the moment you requested I handed over information to help you detain Flanders. I know you don't like him…'

'It's hardly a matter of not liking him Reid. He's a murderer. He's dangerous.'

Reid shook his head. 'No – I'm not going to sit here and listen to this. I'm sorry you don't like my life choices. I've told you that I tried to stop the payments. Those stopped payments will show up on my account. I'm sure Pen will be able to trace them back for you. No I didn't inform you of the situation because I felt it wasn't your business. You cant control my life Aaron as much as you'd like to.'

'I'm not trying to control you Reid.'

'What is it you're doing exactly then? Why do I feel that I have to keep things from you?'

Hotch was pacing now with his hands in tight fists at his side. 'What exactly _are_ you keeping from me?'

Spencer shrugged. 'I don't know anymore. I just don't know what you deem to be wrong and what I'm permitted to do.' He paused and watched Hotch pacing for a while. He wanted to ask if he'd had to report in every time he had sex with Haley. He wanted to ask if there was a great fight with JJ when it turned out she was daring to have sex with someone. What the hell did it have to do with Hotch what they did? 'Sam is waiting for me. I have to go. I will be back tomorrow with my ID and a letter and I'll pick up what few things I have here then.'

Hotch's head snapped around. 'Sam? What are you getting yourself into? You know the problems that boy brings with him.'

Spencer walked to Hotch's door and threw one more thing at him to think about. 'He's not a boy.' Reid pulled the door open and jogged back to the elevator not bothering to look back to see if Hotch was watching. He knew he was. He knew he'd left him wondering what that statement meant.

Shopping, Cleaning and Other Household Chores. 

Spencer made Sam sit in the back of the car on the way home. He dropped the car off a couple of blocks away from his apartment block to be cleaned inside and out and then walked in silence for about half a block before Sam started whining on about the state of his clothes. Spencer had also noted that Sam seemed to have picked up a nasty cough from somewhere. Sam had also wiped his nose on the sleeve of the clothing he had on so many times he's rubbed off some of the scabs which had been forming. He was telling Spencer that the clothes he had on weren't actually his and his clothes were probably at the priests house…

'…but the bitch there told me I'd get shot if I go back. How nice is that? She said I need to seek help somewhere else. She said God isn't going to help me. She's as good as damned me hasn't she. New clothes would be nice though. I'd look better and feel better if I had something new. I just cant believe that the old witch would threaten me like that can you Spencer? What sort of a person does that? I should report her, but what I'm trying to say…' Sam had stopped walking. '…is that this shop right here sells clothes and I've had things from here before and they do real nice stuff. I don't think you'd want anything from here because you're a boring old fart and would rather have a santa sweater knitted by some old granny, but this place does _my_ sort of thing and they know me and they always seem to be able to pick out exactly the right sort of thing for me.' Spencer opened his mouth to say something but Sam carried on talking. 'The problem is though that I don't have any money and the only way I can get some is to go whoring and I'll get nothing stinking like this so I was thinking if I could just sort of borrow some cash off you and pay you back afterwards. I can get the money, but I just don't have any now and cant get any if I look so run down…' He broke off into deep chesty phlegmy coughing. '… run down and sick and Floyd would be annoyed that you let me go around looking like I'm homeless.'

Spencer shrugged. 'You _are_ homeless.' He pointed out. 'This place looks expensive Sam. Can we try somewhere that's not going to empty my wallet?' He started to walk on, but Sam stood his ground.

'Well it's like this. I like this place and they know me and they…' He jogged behind Spencer and grabbed him by the arm. 'I _want_ clothes from that shop. I want to look good. It might not be important to you but it is to me.' A swipe of an arm across his nose. 'You want me to look good don't you? You want your fuck to look nice don't you?'

Reid turned a hard face to look at Sam. 'You're not my… my…'

'Fuck.' Sam sneered. 'But I am… that's the whole point. So will you get me something nice or not?'

'I will, but when we get back to the apartment I'm going to have a long talk with you about it. I'm only getting them because…'

'You like to see me happy. I know.' Sam went up onto the balls of his feet and gave Spencer a quick slightly snotty kiss on the mouth. 'Thank you Spencer. Thank you.'

Reid thought he was going to throw up. He waited without moving until Sam had turned his back and then wiped furiously at his mouth. He let Sam choose two pairs of jeans and two tops. He also let him get some red lace up boots and a new jacket and a hat and socks and underwear and a belt and some rubber wrist bands and some things to put in his hair… and some eye liner, silver eye shadow, some body butter (with glitter)…

'Nothing else!' Spencer snatched the shoulder bag away from Sam and put it back on the hook.

'But I need a bag! The pockets in the jacket are way small. Only good for small change and tissues and condoms. Smokes and stuff will get ruined and it's lovely Spencer! It'll match my boots. Go on please…' Sam pulled it down again and slung it over his shoulder… 'Imagine that with my new jeans and that red top and the black jacket and my red boots… it's screaming to be part of the team don't you think? Go on Spencer I feel naked if I don't accessorise properly. Please… just this one more thing.'

'On the condition that you keep everything in the bags until I've talked to you about this… and you actually put tissues in the pocket.'

Sam gave Spencer a look of total innocence and devotion. 'Thank you. Thank you so much!'

It cost a lot of money. Spencer was far from happy… their moods seemed to be in direct opposition. The happier Sam got the more tense and miserable Spencer got. It was like having to look after someone else's spoilt child. And he supposed in a way he was. They walked back to the apartment with Sam now moaning that the bags were too heavy and that he was weak from the poor living conditions he'd been suffering and could Spencer please carry some of the things. Spencer had just spent nearly his month's wages on pleasing Sam and now that he'd told Hotch that he was going to resign he didn't know what he was going to do for money.

Except he did. He knew. He knew that Floyd would make up the loss for him. He wouldn't even have to ask. It would just happen and though Spencer was comforted by that thought he was now thinking that Hotch had been correct and he should talk to Floyd about stopping this. They went up in the elevator, not because Spencer didn't fancy the stairs but because Sam would have moaned endlessly about it and he was coughing more often now and spitting up dark green phlegm which Spencer was beginning to get a bit concerned about.

The apartment stank. The sound of insects and things crawling around in the mess was louder. Sam rushed to the bedroom and began to empty the bags, but Spencer pulled him back out again and directed him to the lounge. 'Talk first.' He reminded Sam who sighed and looked longingly at his new things and then skulked down to the lounge and sat on the couch with his arms wrapped around his vomit soaked chest.

'I need to talk.'

'So you keep saying.' Sam snapped back. 'Get on with it. I want a shower.'

Spencer nodded. 'Firstly you need to know that you cant live here. You do have to find somewhere else to live. You can stay here for a few days until you locate a place for yourself and I'll help you find somewhere but you cant live here on a permanent basis. Do you understand that?'

Sam shook his head. 'No not really. Why did you get me all that stuff then?'

Reid sighed and gripped the arms of this leather chair. 'The clothes are simply because you had nothing. You have nothing. It was just that and nothing else. It doesn't mean that I want you to live here. It doesn't mean that we have moved up a stage in our friendship. I don't hate you Sam. I worry about you.'

'Do you love me?'

'Why do you keep asking me that? Yes… I love you but I'm not _in love_ with you. I love you like a brother.'

'A brother you fuck.' Sam said and then started coughing and spitting globs of something nasty into his hands. He looked at it for a while… prodded a particularly big lump of something with his finger and then wiped it all off on the leg of his dirty jeans.

Reid said nothing for a while. He just sat looking at Sam and waited to see if he'd speak again. When he didn't Spencer carried on. 'Maybe brother was the wrong word.'

Sam nodded. 'Thought so. I would choose the word _dog_ actually. Or maybe whore. Yes. I'm just a favoured whore. I don't actually even feel all that favoured. So what's the catch? You're not going to admit that you want me. You're not going to tell me that you love me… not really… you couldn't love something anymore than a trout could. You're a cold fish Spencer… come on… what's the catch. What have I got to do to earn those clothes?'

Spencer stood and looked around. 'Clean the apartment while I go and cook some food.'

There were protests of course. Sam said he'd not made the mess and wouldn't clean it especially if he had to move out again, but Spencer explained that if he didn't do it the he'd return all the lovely things he'd just bought for him and he'd have to keep on the grubby vomit and snot covered things he had on now. To Sam it felt like the lowest form of slavery. He told Spencer how slavery had been abolished and he'd been used once before and sold by someone in the white slave trade and wasn't going to go down that route again. Reid put a bucket of hot water on the floor and handed Sam some rubber gloves and cleaning products.

'It has to be good enough for Floyd. Get going. You don't want to take all night and if it's not done right I'll have to take those things back.'

'Blackmail!' Sam howled, but got down on his knees and started doing the work. 'I'm not happy about this. I'm not your skivvy and nothing is ever good enough for Floyd and he's not here anyway and probably isn't coming back again because he went insane and was talking to himself and I'm ill. Cant you tell I'm ill. I've got the worst cough ever and my nose is sore as fuck and… are you listening to me!'

Spencer came back out of the kitchen and picked up the phone. 'Pizza all right for you?' He asked. 'I've got some meds somewhere for coughs. After you're done there and showered you can have some.'

Most of the blood was Floyd's but Spencer knew that not all of it was. Again he was covering up for something Floyd had done but he had to get rid of the smears on the wall and door where he was unsure if the mess was from Floyd or one of Floyd's victim. Sam's cleaning was not to the standard Floyd would have liked but it was done. The mess was cleared and pizza arrived and they sat and nibbled on slices of cheese and tomato and drank cola and Sam actually seemed content for a few moments. It never lasted long for him though. He wanted a shower. He wanted Spencer to help him shower. He wanted someone to do his back for him and Spencer's continual refusal was bugging the hell out of Sam.

'You were happy to do what you did last night. You cant do that then pretend it didn't happen.'

Spencer thought that was just what he _did_ need to do though. Slipping into total denial felt like a great idea. Reid stripped the bed and put fresh linen on the bed and cleared up the scattering of clothes which had been hauled off and thrown around the room. He placed Sam's new things on a chair and put another blanket on the couch with a spare pillow. He had no intention of doing again what had happened last night. It had been a dreadful mistake and he knew that. Sam did eventually shower alone, but then walked back into the lounge naked and dripping asking Spencer to dry his back for him. He was told firmly to go get a towel and dry himself.

'I told you once it had to end. I meant it.' Spencer informed the retreating back.

'I feel so used!' Sam called back over his shoulder. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips and stalked back into the lounge. 'And you wonder why I go out whoring.' Sam moaned.

Spencer shook his head. 'No actually Sam… that's one of the many things about you that I don't wonder about. Put on one of the bathrobes and wrap up warm. You can have the couch tonight and tomorrow after I've run a couple of errands we'll start looking for somewhere for you to stay other than here.'

'Why cant I just stay here Spencer? I'll not get in the way. I'll even do your housework for you. I don't think I want to live alone. Bad things always happen when I live alone. People take advantage.'

'Sam… People take advantage because you act like that's what you want. You talk like you don't have an education or a brain. I know better. Behave like a sulky child and people will treat you like one. Behave like a responsible adult and you'll be surprised at how quickly people's opinions of you will change. You're not stupid and you're not a kid. Stop acting and talking like one. It's beginning to annoy me.' Reid stood and looked down towards his bedroom door. 'I'm going to bed. I need to sleep. If you need something to eat or drink you know where the kitchen is. Don't touch the alcohol and don't set the place on fire. I'll see you in the morning.' Reid walked down to the bedroom and pushed open the door. 'If you can keep your hands to yourself you can have your clothes in the morning. Good night and sleep well.'

Sam's eyes narrowed but he nodded and pulled a blanket over his lap. 'You know how difficult you find it to read a book and enjoy it?' Sam said to Reid. Spencer stood at the bedroom door and nodded. 'Well that's what life is like for me. Every little thing. You have no idea what it's like. When you want to really enjoy something you have it read to you, or you read aloud or you look at graphic novels… I do the same sort of thing. It's not easy being able to do really simple tasks sometimes when my brain is sucking out information about every tiny molecule and how it's going to effect something else and how that rolls over and in turn makes changes to yet another thing. You know when I wash a floor I'm not just washing a floor; I'm calculating in my mind the different chemicals in the liquid. I make formulas in my head and work out every tiny detail. I have to switch it off. I have to be able to go out in the dark and not be doing calculus in my head and using the stars to make equations. It's all very well thinking that being able to do things like calculate the light speed travelling from one star to the next is good but it's a pain in the arse when you want to lay under the stars and make love and all you can think of is numbers spinning in your head. I have to switch it off. I cant put salt on a fry without coming up with some sort of crap in my head. I bury my mind in other things and sometimes I might come across as churlish and spoilt but that's just the obverse of everything else in my head. It's just how it comes out you know? I understand that it's Floyd you want. I really do understand that. I just don't seem to be able to form a relationship with anyone at all. It always goes wrong. I ask the wrong questions and people get angry with me and then I get angry back. I don't mean to push everyone away. I just want to feel wanted. I don't really care if I'm not loved. I know you don't really love me, not as a brother or a dog… I know that… as you said I'm not stupid but there's this button in my brain which gets pressed and it makes be believe that if someone likes you they give you gifts. Therefore if someone gives you enough nice stuff it must be because they really very much like you. Can you see what I mean?' Sam stood up and walked over to where Spencer was still standing. 'You gave me a lot of nice stuff today.'

'I see. I see where this is going and the answer is _no_.'

'I just want to be held! I want to feel that I'm liked.'

'You _are_ liked.'

'By you?'

Spencer folded his arms across his chest. 'By Floyd. I need to sleep. Good night. We will talk more in the morning.'

'You cant do this! You cant mess with my head like this. It's not fair Spencer. I thought…'

'You thought wrong. You took my side arm. You broke into my locked box and took my gun. You went to see the priest. Now why would that have been? Why sneak out of the apartment with my gun? Do you have even the slightest idea of how that made me feel? I went to sleep last night holding you as you wanted. I gave you everything you requested.' Spencer paused and licked his lips. 'and then you did that. I cant trust you Sam. Why would I want to continue along the road we'd started when I cant trust you? It's not possible. You need to sort your head out. You need to work out if you want to be doing something you'll be admired for or if you want to carry on being a whore – which I assure you will not get you any admiration. If you want people to love you, you have to stop lying and accusing people of things just to make yourself feel less of a slut.'

'I'm not the only slut in this apartment.' Sam hissed back. 'It really didn't take much to get you doing what I wanted…'

Spencer walked through the bedroom door and slammed it shut.

'You bastard!' Sam shouted from the other side. 'You're the slut not me! It's why Floyd likes you… he only likes whores and sluts and slags… you ask him! You ask him if that's true or not!' The door got kicked a few times and then the apartment fell into silence.


	13. Chapter 13

13

Sam's Evening

I'm not angry so much as really – maybe I'm a bit angry but I feel like my plans have just collapsed around my ears. He wont even let me have my new clothes. There's always something I have to do first. Clean the fucking apartment… Shower… Eat… And now it's that I have to keep my hands to myself and I think that Spencer is a bit of a shit for keep moving the line. I need to have something I know I can aim for. What's the point in doing something to reach a goal if the bastard keeps moving the goal posts? The heating has gone off. Spencer doesn't care that I've only got a bathrobe and a couple of blankets. He's all snuggled down under thick duck down stuff and I've got a couple of old scratchy things. He's told me to stop acting like a kid and so I will. I'll show him exactly how intelligent I can be when needs be. I tip toe to the kitchen and close the door and then I place the kitchen towel on the floor in front of the sink and turn on the cold water and I let it run for a little while and then plug the outlet, grab a mug and walk to the fridge-freezer where he has an ice dispenser. I fill the mug with ice and tip it into the water which I've now turned off. I do this a couple of times and then replace the mug and I roll up my sleeves and plunge my hands and arms into the icy water up to my elbows and I leave them there until I'm full all over shivering. I carefully dab my hands and arms dry because I don't want to rub at them and get them warm again. I put my cold hands on my neck and kept them there until my teeth are chattering together. Then it's time for my feet. I bounce up so that I'm sitting on the work surface and slide my feet into the water.

'Aaahhh fucking shit!'

I hope my cry wasn't loud enough to wake Spencer, but damn that's fucking _cold_! I jump down onto the towel and dab quickly at my feet and then give my hands another turn in the water and remove the plug and just stand there shivering my fucking arse off. Which is a good point. I put cold hands on my butt – however I don't leave them there for too long. I have a hot backside and I don't want to ruin the effect my warming my hands on it. I put the towel back and exit the kitchen.

Now I put the heating back on again. This will work better if we can get all sweaty. I then stand in front of the bedroom door and with my teeth still chattering and my nose streaming I give it a light tap. He doesn't answer and I didn't expect him to, but that's fine. I didn't need him to. I open the door and quietly close it behind me. Spencer is as I thought all snuggled down warm under the covers and here I am freezing half to death.

'Spencer?' I whisper. I don't care if he doesn't know I'm there. 'Are you awake?' Still nothing.

Now I have to be really careful because he told me to keep my hands to myself or I wont get those things and I can see them laid out on the chair in the corner and they make my heart pound in delight. Spencer is laying on his side and so really carefully and with the bathrobe still on I slide under the covers so that his front is facing my back. I need him to wake up now so I move one of my feet and place it like a block of ice onto Spencer's leg and he's awake!

'What? Sam! What are you doing? Get out!'

He's pushing my back trying to force me out. 'But I was so cold! I'm so cold. You cant leave me to freeze. I've got a chest infection. I'll die! Do you know how quickly hyperthermia can set in? Especially when that person is weakened all ready. I just want to be warm. I didn't touch you! I kept my hands to myself.'

'Your feet are like ice! It cant be that cold. What have you been doing?'

But one of his hands is touching my neck which he can tell is also very cold. I reach up and put one of my hands over his and he lets out a small yelp of surprise. 'I'm freezing. Just let me warm up a bit and I'll go again.' And to make sure that I've not wasted my time I touch his leg with my toes and make him jump.

'Fine… just to warm up and then get out of here. I gave you blankets. Put the heating back on. I never realised how cold it got.' There was a nice little pause as arms wrapped around me. 'You're so cold.' He whispered.

Well that's how I managed to get into Spencer's bed. That's how I managed to get warm and moreover that's how I got what I wanted. Spencer is an FBI agent. He is also a ravenous slut. I knew that if I could get him to embrace me that it'd not stop there. You see he's forgotten all ready his own diatribe. He should have figured it out himself. I'm not stupid. I also have this wonderful ability to seduce with my pheromones. If he only knew that the sweet smell of roses wasn't from the shower soap but from the depths of my slightly depraved and needy soul. I can get someone to forget their promises to forgo me for a while. I cant compel that same person to like me. And what's more I cant make that person forget what they've done; now that would be a useful talent because I get the feeling that he's going to be infuriated with me again in the morning. But right now you will excuse me… something's need to be private.

The Following Morning.

Floyd had a big list of _Things To Do_. They were a mixture of different medications they insisted he took, dates and times for therapy meetings, doctors appointments and emergency telephone numbers which they wanted him to use next time he had a _crisis_. There was also an appointment to talk to someone about alcohol dependency, drug dependency (the latter which Floyd pointed out was a ridiculous thing to say as they'd just filled out a prescription so he could take a fist full of shit every day.) They told him that his mental health depended on him following up with the services they offered. They told him that next time his mind might snap and he'd not find a way back again. Floyd told them that his mind slipped eons ago and he was perfectly happy the way it was. He thanked them and wearing a pair of second hand sweatpants, an old hoodie and a pair of worn down sneakers he left to do what he really needed to do.

His first stop was to the bank where he withdrew a huge amount of cash. They asked if he'd rather take the money in some other form but he insisted that it had to be cash. They asked if he wanted to hire security to ensure that he made it home and not get mugged. He turned down the offer. He next visited a small realtor and sat in the office explaining exactly what he was looking for. They checked their computers and came up with the perfect thing and Floyd handed over money to pay for his little surprise for Spencer. He also visited a small shop and bought a box of rat poison. Next he visited a used car lot and bought a battered but reliable black van. He was having a good day. Things were turning out good. It had been well worth not killing everyone in the hospital he'd been dragged to by that damned Derek Morgan. He'd pay Morgan back for that.

With a spring in his step, knowing that he wasn't wanted for anything and that the cops had nothing on him and that Hotch was probably still red faced and pacing… Oh… Floyd had one more thing he wanted to do before he went home. He visited a store and purchased a games consol and a huge selection of games. He had them delivered to an address on the outskirts of the city. The package was to be addressed for delivery to Jack Hotchner. They kid would be delighted… Floyd was very sure of that. He also stopped off somewhere _special _and picked up something for Sam. And now with a small smirk on his face he walked home to gather Spencer into his arms and show him just how much he'd missed him.

He went up via the stairs. He had a lot of energy which needed to be expelled slightly before he saw Spencer. He knew though that something was amiss before opening the door to the apartment. He could smell it. He could taste it in the air. He stood and just listened for a while, but there were no screams coming from the other side. Floyd placed his hands on the door and tried to feel what was wrong, but still he couldn't quite place what it was. Something corrupt; that's all his mind would let him process. Then there was a sound. Footsteps in the hallway; Spencer's footsteps going to the kitchen maybe. Floyd slipped his key in the lock and pushed open the door. It was then that the smell really hit him. It was almost over powering. Spencer stood staring at Floyd and Floyd stared right back at him.

'Did I disturb something?' Floyd looked at Spencer standing there in an old pair of cords and a ratty Tshirt.

Spencer gave him a nervous smile. 'Disturb? No… I wasn't expecting you home today…'

Floyd walked into the hallway and closed the door behind him. 'No? Well you wouldn't have known would you? Wasn't like you were showing any interest in my recovery process. Not one visit? Not one? What's kept you so busy? Where is he? Still here. He's still here.' Floyd pushed Spencer aside and walked down to the lounge.

Sam jumped up from the couch where he was sitting reading and let out a yelp of happiness. 'Floyd!'

And Floyd took in what Sam was wearing… he looked at the overly tight overly low cut red jeans… the small red and black checked top… the big shiny red boots. He also took in that very familiar smell. 'Well this is nice and cosy. I'm away in hospital, no one but Hotchner thinks to pay a visit and you two are getting jiggy in my apartment. What a lovely home coming this is.'

'It's not how it may look.' Spencer was right behind Floyd which was maybe a mistake. Floyd's elbow made easy contact with Spencer's stomach and forced a grunt of surprise out of him.

'It's exactly how it looks!' Floyd then moved forwards quickly making a grab for Sam who was moving backwards but not quite quickly enough. A hand wrapped around Sam's neck and now he was being pushed back towards the wall. 'You think I'm a fucking moron? Do you really think I don't know what you've been doing? It stinks like a fucking whore house in here! I can smell it out in the corridor! You filthy fucking animal!' Sam's back was now against the wall and hands were pulling and scratching at Floyd's hand trying to get him off.

'Floyd stop!' Spencer again from down on his knees behind Floyd. 'Just stop it!'

'Has he asked if you love him?' Floyd was looking at Sam but talking to Spencer. He gave Sam a shake and Sam gave out a small noise of what Floyd hoped was fear. 'Has he? Has he whined and moaned and begged you to say you love him? What else has he done? Curled up against you and let you fuck him?' Sam's feet were now coming off the floor and boots were kicking at Floyd's shins. 'He's a filthy whore!' Floyd span around still holding Sam around the neck. 'Did you buy him these clothes? Answer me Spencer!'

'He had nothing.' Spencer was pulling himself back to his feet and reaching out to grab Sam and pull him away from Floyd. 'Please put him down.'

Floyd hurled Sam across the room. He landed with a resounding _thump_ against the book shelves and then slipped to howling crying lump on the floor. 'OK… I've put him down, but if he gets up again I might have to fucking well snap that pretty little neck that your damned mouth has been all over.' Floyd pulled something from his pocket and threw it at Spencer. 'I got you a gift. You might want to take Sam with you…' Floyd walked away and down towards the bedroom.

'Oh my fucking god. He's going to kill me Spencer. He's going to go in there and know everything.'

Reid sat down on his chair with the paperwork Floyd had lobbed at him in his hands. 'He all ready knows everything Sam.' Spencer moaned. 'And I suspect that we're both going to be on his hit list. Don't move. Just stay where you are.'

Floyd pushed open the bedroom door but didn't enter. He stood and looked at the towels on the floor, the discarded bathrobes, the clothing, the mess the bed was in and the small neat pile of new clothing on the chair. 'Spence babes!' Floyd called out. 'Can you do me a favour?' And though to an outsider Floyd might have sounded calm and relaxed Spencer knew better. 'Can you ask Sam to remove his boots please.' Still Floyd didn't move. He was taking in all the different smells assailing his senses. Slowly though he moved from the bedroom and walked to the bathroom. Again he pushed open the door and just stood looking. 'Are you doing what I requested you dirty whore?' His voice still sounded calm.

'Yes! Yes… boots are coming off.' Spencer's voice didn't sound so calm and by the noise and howling going on from Sam he certainly wasn't feeling any where close to being calm.

Floyd walked back into the lounge. Spencer was on his knees in front of Sam pulling off the second boot. Sam was curled up with his arms wrapped around his head crying and muttering something about being sorry. 'Sam pull yourself together and get those slut's clothes off now. Spencer he can manage. Get your damned hands off him.'

Spencer moved back out of the way and as quickly as he could Sam began to strip off. 'Spence babes can you go and brew up some fresh coffee. They sort of didn't want me drinking any where I've been. They said it's bad for my nerves. What do you think Spence? Bad for my nerves or calming? Not that it matters… Good… keep your distance from me Spence… Sam you're not moving quickly enough. Get those damned jeans off and don't even think of telling me that you're sorry. Don't want to hear it. And I've not told you to stand up. Get back down on the floor where you deserve to be. He watched Sam wriggle out of his clothing and then sit with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head down. 'You're a good boy really Sam. You know when you've been a little bastard don't you?' Floyd pulled a tiny glass phial out of his pocket and held it up. 'Look what I got for you. LOOK! Look what I fucking well went out of my way to get you. Here you are up here being a filthy rat fucking dog motherfucking…' He paused and waited for Sam to look. When he still kept his head down Floyd walked to him and kicked him in the left shin. 'Look!' Floyd's free hand grabbed Sam's hair and pulled him up to see. 'Can you see now?' A small whimpering sound escaped from Sam's lips and a hand reached up for what Floyd was holding. 'Oh you cant have it. Not now. Not now.'

'Floyd…' A small whine of a voice. 'Please!'

'Please?' Floyd dropped the tiny bottle of poppy oil onto the wooden floor and stamped down on it. 'Fine. All yours.' As Sam howled in distress that his lovely poppy oil was seeping into the wood, Floyd dragged him over and pressed his face down into the little bits of glass and narcotic. 'Enjoy it.' A hand touched Floyd's shoulder gently. 'I hope that's not you babes. I hope you're not pawing me after you've had that dirty hand on Sam's dick.' The hand quickly went.

'Floyd sit and we can talk about this.' Spencer's voice was outside slapping range and Floyd was crouched down grinding Sam's face into the small shards of glass.

'Talk about it? Yes you're right. We need to talk about this. I think I'd enjoy that.' He stood but still had a hold of Sam's hair. 'First I need to put out the trash. Such a shame that there's no garbage chute in this place. One which goes straight down to an incinerator. I would have had just the thing for it.' He walked across the lounge dragging a screaming bleeding kicking Sam behind him. 'Spencer be a love will you and open the door? Quickly now… a bit faster… this vermin is trying to escape.'

'Please Floyd… put him down. It's…'

'Don't even think of telling me it's not his fault or it's not necessary because I know it's both. So keep your fucking mouth shut until you have something to tell me which might change my mind about what's been going on here. How I see it though is I was away and you thought you'd fuck Sam. Open that fucking door!' Spencer didn't move though. He stood back next to his desk and did nothing. He didn't help Sam. He didn't open the door. He didn't say anything. He just stood and watched Floyd drag Sam down the short corridor, open the main door and hurl him out. Floyd left the apartment door open, walked quickly back to the bedroom, picked up a damp towel off the floor and then walked out into the passageway. Spencer's apartment was the last door down the corridor and Sam had quickly crawled into the far back corner next to the fire door. Floyd crouched down next to him and laid the towel over him. 'Don't you dare fucking go anywhere… you hear me? If you even think about leaving I'll know and I'll come get you and take that fucking ring from your finger. Actually I'll bite your damned fingers off one at a time… don't even think that I wont. You understand me?' He prodded Sam with a finger. 'I have more of that stuff. You want it you will be a good rat and stay just where you are. Don't talk to anyone and don't you fall asleep.' He patted Sam on the side of the face. 'If I was you though I'd pick that glass out of your pretty face before it scars. Right now the only thing that's stopping me from ripping out your guts and stuffing them up your greedy arse is that sweet face of yours.'

Sam looked up at Floyd. 'You really have more?' Can I at least see it?'

'You think I'm a liar? Oh fine. Yes I can see that you'd imagine I was a deceitful fuck like you are.' He pulled out another small phial. 'There you are princess. All yours… but not if you move.'

'I need a pee.' Sam stared at the bottle and made note of the pocket Floyd was putting it back into.

'You're going to have to hold it in or piss where you're laying my darling little dark angel. I'll be back.' Floyd stood. 'Not sure when, but I will and if I've found you've moved I'll nail your feet to the fucking floor.' He turned his back and walked back into the apartment slamming the door hard behind him.

Spencer was still standing next to his desk. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his chest and was taking long deep breaths in an attempt not to freak out in panic. Floyd got them both some coffee then told Spencer to sit. The mugs were placed on coasters and as Spencer carefully keeping his distance from Floyd sat down, Floyd flopped down on the couch. 'It's exhausting… all this shit. You know what I mean Spence?' Floyd rubbed at his temples. 'I've been so doped up for the past fuck knows how many days that I'm finding it hard to think straight, but I do believe that these meds are allowing me to remain calm and keep my temper from over flowing. Have you seen what I got for you yet? Have you fucking bothered to look?'

Reid picked up the bits of paper and scanned through them quickly. 'Thank you.' It was all he could think of to say.

'Yes, it's nice. I thought you'd like it. Log cabin by a lake… well no maybe not… as you said bad things happen in log cabins, but that's not a lake as such and it's more of a small house than a cabin, but it's right on the beach. Beautiful. And I checked that there's local nightlife and a local place with bars and bright lights to comfort your aching soul when you think of Vegas. I bought it. But I put your name on the papers. You know that fucker Hotchner is tracking everything I do. I've no doubt he's going to be tracking you too. So Spence… drink up… coffee is good… and then tell me why you think it's OK to take what is mine, dress it like some cheap back street hooker and then fuck it. I'm really interested to hear your answer.' Floyd picked up the book Sam had been reading and flicked through the pages. He then placed it on the small table and looked at Spencer who'd not answered his question yet, or thanked him as he had been hoping.

'Sam had nowhere to stay. I told him he could stay here. I made it very clear… I told him… I… I didn't invite him into my bed. He… Sam… had nothing to wear. I let him buy some things. He was so unhappy…'

Floyd cut him off. 'Ok… let's break this down into small understandable sections shall we?' Floyd slid off the couch and knelt on the floor in front of Spencer. 'You made it very clear… that's good. You are aware that Sam wouldn't have taken notice of your instructions aren't you? Maybe you'll remember if there's ever a next time… _your_ bed? That's interesting because I was under the impression that was _my_ bed or at the most _our_ bed. How do you like what I'm wearing Spence? Do I look good in a hoodie and someone else's fucking crappy shoes? Sam wasn't walking around naked. He had clothes. You didn't have to get him a load of stuff to make him look so whorish.'

'It's what he wanted.' Spencer whispered.

'Oh… so Sam demands and you give in? So tell me is that why you took him in my bed?'

'He was cold. Ice cold Floyd. He's got a chest infection.'

Floyd's hands went to Spencer's knees. 'Spence love… Sam's mind doesn't work like every one else. He's got some kind of imbalance going on in his brain. Give him one simple nice thing and he'll assume he has a right to molest you. Now what we need to question is what we're going to do next.'

'I trusted him.' Spencer placed his hands over Floyd's. 'I told him to stay in the lounge. I told him…'

Floyd nodded. 'Would you trust a rat not to eat the grain in the bag you'd just placed it in? Naughty rat… don't eat the grain… it's not yours. Really Spencer you expect me to believe that? So did he sneak into your room all cold and get into bed and beg you to warm him up?' Floyd pulled his hands out from under Spencer's. 'He did didn't he? And you didn't think to block the door knowing that Sam was out there wanting you to have his arse and keep him warm and safe. Damnit Spencer.' Floyd stood. 'Was he reading to you?'

'No… no he was reading to himself. I was writing a letter. I've done what you requested and resigned. I handed in my sidearm and I've told Hotch. I need to take in my ID today and give in a formal letter.' Spencer pointed at the desk. 'You can read it.'

'Not much point. You're not writing a letter of resignation.' Floyd went back and sat on the couch. 'I said I'd write it and you can sign it. I don't see why that arrangement has to change just because there's a naked whore in your hallway. I'm wondering how long it will be before someone reports that.' Floyd sipped on his coffee. 'I might find it within myself to forgive you. I just might. But forgive Sam? Nope… I'll not. So what should we do when Hotchner turns up because he's going to? Not only will an alert flash up that there's been police called to your apartment building but there's another reason I think Hotch might come to see us. Now… this is why your head isn't being smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor right now… I want Hotch to see you happy, so I suggest that you go and tidy up that shit hole of a bed room and light some scented candles to get rid of the stink and I'll sit here and contemplate what I should do about that rat, but before you go Spence, you've not said if you like me dressed like this or not.'

Reid shook his head and shrugged. 'What's the point in answering such a question? Any answer will be wrong. If I say you look dreadful you'll rant on about how you've been walking around like that or tell me that your out appearance is just a shell or some such rubbish and I should be looking at the inner you and not your clothing. If I tell you that you look good you'll rage on at me about how you don't usually dress in such a way and am I saying I don't like how you usually dress. I've known you too long Floyd. There's no answer to your question which will be the right one. I'm not even going to bother trying. I will however say that looking beyond the clothing and seeing the inner you is not something I want to do right now.' Spencer stood and wiped sweaty palms on his hips. 'I understand why you're so angry…'

'…no you don't Spence. You don't have a fucking clue. Let me know when Hotch arrives and don't let Morgan in here again without a warrant and don't let Sam back in without asking me first. I'm going to think about what needs to be done next. Maybe we can just go see what that place is like that I got for you? How does that sound? Tell me when you get back from making our room look like it's _our_ room and not a fucking brothel.'

Spencer stood in his small hallway looking at the closed apartment door. He knew he should have done something to defend Sam. He should have just stood there and watched. He wanted to go out and check up on him and make sure that the cuts to his face were not going to get infected. He was aware at how run down Sam was and how prone to infections he seemed to be. He wanted to take him out something warm. A hand ran down Spencer's side making him jump. Floyd had crept up and for a horrible moment thought that Floyd had been sucking his thoughts right out of him.

'Sam will be fine.'

Spencer made a low groaning noise. 'He's sick.' Spencer said.

'Very. But he will have to learn. Talking to him doesn't work. Pain and fear is the only thing that ever really gets through to him Spencer. No amount of talking to him and saying that he cant have what he wants is going to sink in. He's not constructed to be able to process that sort of information. He knows though that if he does something and then I smack him around a bit that what he just did was wrong. It's the only way he learns. You should have clobbered him one yesterday… not appeal to his better nature. He doesn't have one. Remember that Sam is just an item. He's just something to fuck… it's his only purpose. That is the only reason I'm forgiving you… that and I've missed you and it'd seem a shame to throw you out of the window before you've even seen your lovely new home.'


	14. Chapter 14

14

Not All Gifts Are Well Received.

Hotch drove with an unwrapped parcel on the passenger seat. It was late afternoon now and the traffic was heavy and the air was damp. He hadn't let Jack see that something had arrived for him. What he'd done was call the store which had delivered it and asked who had paid for the delivery. They had no name but they described a scruffy dark haired man who looked like he'd escaped from a mental hospital. It was all the description Hotch needed. There was only one place Flanders would have gone to and that's where he was on his way to now. He pulled up in the underground parking lot and took the elevator up to Spencer's floor. The corridor was very dimly lit but it didn't bother Hotch until he saw something piled up next to the fire exit doors. He thought at first, when he originally noted it that someone had left rubbish there. Then he saw a pale foot and a bony elbow and his stomach lurched. At first he thought it was Spencer laying there; that Floyd had come back and killed him and thrown him out like garbage and then he took in the mass of dark hair. He placed the parcel in front of Reid's door and cautiously got a closer look. He knew who it was now. He just wasn't sure if Sam was alive or not. It wasn't until he was crouched down next to him that he could see that his eyes were open if not slightly glazed but there was movement from the shallow breaths he was taking. There was dried blood on his face where it looked to Hotch that Sam had tiny cuts and now he was close enough to see he could see that the tips of Sam's fingers were also cut. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.

'Leave me alone.' A shallow far away voice muttered.

'Sam it's Hotch.'

'I can see who you are. I'm not fucking blind. Leave me alone.'

'You're frozen. What are you doing out here? Get up. You can have my jacket.'

'Oh right. Sure… defy him and get my feet mutilated. I'm not a fool. Go away.'

Hotch moved his hand away but didn't yet leave. 'Why are you here? Where are your clothes? This towel is wet.'

'I pissed myself. I'm laying in half frozen piss. That's why I'm so cold. That's why the towel is wet. Look I'm sorry to have to say this to you but I don't want your fucking help so go away… as to why I am here… Why the hell do you think?'

Sam then curled up tighter and closed his eyes. Hotch looked over his shoulder at the door. 'Take my jacket.' He was almost begging Sam now.

'I said… I don't …I don't want – my – feet – mutilated. He will kill me if I am found… if he knows. Please… fuck of Aaron. Leave me.'

'I'll talk to him. I'll be back.'

Hotch stood and was hoping Sam would ask him to stay or give him the jacket but he seemed adamant that he wanted to be left alone. Aaron turned and knocked on Spencer's door. He could hear footsteps. Cautious footsteps. Quickly Aaron picked up the parcel and waited for the door to be opened. He had no doubt that it would be. There was a sliding of a lock and then the door swung open. Spencer was standing there wearing a very big smile.

'Hotch! Come in.'

'I'm not here to see you Reid. You were meant to report to my office today. I see you've been busy doing something else though?' He indicated Sam. Spencer though ignored what Hotch was pointing at and stood back for him to come in.

As he locked the door again he carried on talking. 'Do you want a drink? There's coffee of some whiskey if you fancy? Lovely to see you. What have you got there?' The chatter was fake and nervous. 'The weather's been cold for this time of the year don't you think? I know I was meant to come and see you today but things sort of got hectic and I lost all track of time. I have written the resignation letter though. I can let you have that and my ID now. That would save me driving in tomorrow. I'm going on holiday… Hotch… I'm… Floyd is here.' Then panicked tone was building in Spencer's voice. 'Please… please don't cause trouble.'

Hotch walked passed Spencer into the lounge were Floyd was standing looking at the books on the shelves. He talked to Hotch without turning around.

'I was expecting you. I thought you'd be here before now. We're going away. I'm sure Garcia will be able to give you all the little dirty details. A holiday though is in order. Was there something you wanted Agent Aaron Hotchner?'

Hotch put the parcel down on the table. 'You will stop your games.' He snapped. 'You will _not_ send my son gifts in the post. You will stay away from him or I will…'

'You will what?' Floyd turned around taking in the unwrapped package. 'He would have liked that. It was only a good will gesture. The boy has lost his mother, his father is hardly home…'

'You will stay away from my son!' Now a raised and angry voice.

Floyd took a step towards Hotch. 'You will have to learn to put up with it Aaron. It's how it works. And I don't think you can say that I've broken any law. Now get a restraining order out on me and maybe I'll have to rethink, but do you _really_ want me to do that Aaron?' Floyd gestured towards the apartment door. 'I guess you saw Sam out there.'

'You will stop this insane behaviour Flanders. You will stay away from my son.'

'As you will stay away from mine. Now kindly take your self out of the apartment.'

'Sam's _not_ your son!' Hotch picked up the package and shoved it into Floyd's chest. 'Take it and I'm warning you…'

'Oh go ahead and warn me… warn me till you're blue in the face… will it stop me? As for Sam not being my son… he's what I choose to say he is and today he's been a very naughty little boy which is why he's out there shivering and not in here warming his poor cold fingers on Spencer… I mean on the central heating.' Floyd now glanced at Spencer. 'Are you going to tell Aaron why Sam's a bad boy or am I?'

Reid felt his face getting hot. He quickly turned and picked up the letter off the desk and took his ID out of the desk drawer. 'My resignation.' He muttered and held them out for Hotch. 'Please don't ask questions. I know you don't understand but it's how it's got to be.' He could still feel his face burning with something mixed with anger and shame. Hotch took the things from Spencer's hands and nodded.

'If you need anything…'

'If he needs anything he's got me. He doesn't need you. No one actually _needs_ you. Tell Sam he can some back in now. I think he's learnt his lesson.'

Hotch gave Floyd a cold look and then looked back at Spencer. 'If you need _anything_.'

Reid suddenly jerked out of the way as Floyd pulled him to the side. 'Anything? Please elucidate for me Aaron.' But Hotch turned his back and began to walk back to the door. 'I mean it Flanders. If you attempt to contact my son again I will have you charged.'

'Ah fuck off Hotchner. Get out of my apartment and don't forget to tell Sam to come back in… but you touch him… well give my boy comfort and I might have to give your boy some… and I don't think we comfort in quite the same way and my patience when it comes to such matters is quite long… alarmingly long. You'll be looking over your shoulder even when dead and in your grave. Give Jack a good night kiss for me… actually, I think from now on every time you kiss that sweet child goodnight you can just assume that all that love is from me too. Good night. Happy New year and all that shit.'

Spencer heard the door open and he heard Hotch's muttered voice and then he heard Sam's coughs. He turned to Floyd who was standing again looking at the books. 'What the hell was that all about? You bought Jack a gift?'

'Don't worry your sweet self babes. I'm just winding him up.' He pulled a book off the shelf and started to leaf through it.

'Winding him up? You implied that you're going to groom Jack!'

'Oh very much more than implied it Spencer. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing.' He put the book back again. 'Sam my little princess you smell of piss. I can smell you from here. Go shower and make yourself beautiful for me will you? There's a love. I've been considering the items of clothing that Spencer got you and I think you may as well keep them, but put something else on for now sweet thing… save them for our holiday… you do want to come on holiday with me and Spence don't you?'

'I'll have a shower and thank you Floyd.'

'Oh you're lucky you caught me in such a forgiving mood. I didn't think I would be able to but you know what a soft bastard I can be sometimes. You are really going to have to behave yourself though if you want what I've got in my pocket.'

Sam stood looking at the stain on the wooden floor. He then turned quickly and walked to the bathroom before Floyd could see that he was crying. Not crying because Floyd had hurt him. Not crying because he'd been humiliated and had turned down Hotch's offer of help… but crying because of that stain in the wood. Sam already knew that he'd be down there trying to lick the stuff off the floor. He knew that he'd be begging Floyd for that other phial and he knew that just like Spencer and the clothes that he was going to have to jump through all sorts of hoops to get it.

'Why do you have to wind Hotch up about his son? What's the point in that?'

Floyd shrugged. 'He takes too much interest in my affairs. I'm just doing the same back. He'll learn and he'll back off. Jack's a kid Spencer. I'm not going to do anything to hurt him. You should know me better than that. I might threaten to love him and hug him and show him manly love when he's old enough, but I'd never threaten his kid as such.' Spencer wanted to know what Floyd had bought for Jack. What was in the parcel? 'It's a games console and fifty games. All kids stuff, some just games, some educational. He'd have liked it. Check it if you don't believe me. It's the sort of thing kids of his age like.'

Spencer raised an eyebrow. 'In the same way I liked books and paper.'

'No babes, not the same at all. That was very expensive special paper.' Floyd grinned a shark like grin and walked down to the kitchen taking a few seconds to look through the open bathroom door at Sam standing soaping himself in the shower. He stood for a while in the kitchen looking at the wall. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mouth was dry, his hands shaking, his toes were curling up and relaxing inside the dirty sneakers, his skin felt itchy and he had a thumping headache. Floyd pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes trying to stop the rage building up inside of him. 'Not yet.' He muttered to himself. 'Not yet. I'll have plenty of time when we get there to show them both what happens when they screw behind my back.' He took the phial of poppy oil out of his pocket and rolled it around in the palm of his hand. 'I can control Sam with this, but what can I control Spencer with?' He slipped it back into his pocket and glanced out of the kitchen door and then looked back at the kitchen drawer he was standing in front of. He pulled it open and looked down at the shiny sharp knives sitting there. He took out a small one and held it up in front of his face. For a while he stood there looking at the knife and thinking about the things he could do with it. He could feel that Spencer was now standing at the kitchen door looking at him so he carefully placed the knife on the work surface and turned to look at Spencer. 'I don't usually use weapons.' Floyd said. 'But I will if that's what I have to do.'

Spencer swallowed and licked at his lips. 'I don't understand.'

'Do you say that because you know I don't like you saying you're sorry? I know you understand Spencer. You probably understand better than anyone. Did you mark off the days?' Spencer said nothing but kept his eyes on the knife. 'Oh don't worry about the knife. I wouldn't use that on you. It was for Sam. I considered taking out an eye but that'd mar that pretty face of his and who the hell looks at his face when he's on his knees? So not really much of a revenge as I seem to be the only one who likes to look at his face.'

'Floyd!' Spencer took a step into the kitchen. 'If you want to place blame then blame me.'

'Oh I do. I very much blame you. I know you have an emotional tie to Sam. I just didn't think you'd do something as base and vile as fucking him.' Floyd flicked at the knife with his finger. 'So what do you think Spencer?'

Reid stepped back a pace. 'About what?' He was speaking so quietly he could hardly hear his own voice… but he knew it was shaking horribly.

'Well about me taking Sam's eye.'

'I think… I think… that you should be taking your anger out on me.'

'Upsets you does it? Bother you that I might cut Sam?'

Spencer wrapped his arms tightly around his own chest. 'Of course it does and keep your voice down.'

'Don't want him to hear what I have planned? Oh Spencer… surely you don't love the whore do you? He's got no loyalty as is evident by what he let you do. Surely you don't think he really has feelings do you? He's just a vessel for masturbation. He has no feelings.'

'You're wrong Floyd.'

Floyd slammed his hand down on the counter next to the knife. 'Well we will see wont we because if I even get a sniff of him on you again I'm going to show you just what an evil son of a motherfucking bitch I can be and I'll make you watch while I mutilate him. So keep away.'

'You wouldn't.' But again Spencer was moving back…

…and again Floyd slammed his hand down on the counter making the knife rattle and making Spencer jump. 'You want to put that to the test Spence? Go ahead. I'm sure he'll be asking for someone to dry him off soon. See what happens if you do. I'm game if you are and don't even think of asking me why I'm doing this.'

'I wasn't…'

'Fucking were! You damned bitch! You lying whore! I'm away for fuck knows how long… I return, end up with you dragging fucking Morgan here and then I'm in hospital. Do you visit? Fuck no! No you sodding well fucking don't! Not a fucking sign of you. Did it even occur to you to come and check up on me? No! No! and don't try to tell me otherwise Spencer because I know you didn't. No phone calls, no letters, no requests… not a fucking thing and I did wonder why. I thought that maybe Hotchner had got to you. But…' Floyd picked up the knife and flipped it from one hand to another. 'But you were here showing your base carnal desires to my boy… how many nights?'

Reid just stared. He knew that if he lied Floyd would know, but if he was honest with him either he or Sam were going to be dead.

'I don't need to answer that.' He finally said and Floyd corrected him telling him that he did need to answer it. 'He was here for two nights.'

'Nice. So it wasn't just a mistake. I was sort of thinking that it might have been your stupidity leaving the door untended. But you knew… you fucking well knew he'd come to the bed given the chance.' He was now holding the knife firmly in one hand and gesticulating with it.

'It wasn't like that Floyd. I promise…'

'Don't you fucking _lie_ to me!' Floyd bellowed. 'Sam! Sam Trent-Saviour get your arse down to the kitchen now!'

Spencer moved to block the doorway. 'There's no need. I get the message. I understand. You don't need…'

'You want me to fucking gut you? Get out of the door way. Sam get here now!'

'I wont allow you to hurt Sam for my mistake.'

Floyd sighed and smirked. 'Well good. That's good. I like to see someone with a bit of loyalty, but Spence I thought you were my lover. I thought you were mine? Where's the loyalty towards me?'

Reid stood his ground. 'I wont let you to hurt Sam when you have already said that I'm to blame. So if you need to take your anger out on someone it's going to have to be me.'

Floyd lowered the knife, turned his back on Spencer and put the knife back in the drawer. He was seeing a new side to Spencer and he didn't much like it. Not that Floyd was worried or even bothered that Spencer would hit him… but he wasn't going to risk that… at least not yet. 'Just remember Spencer. You keep your hands off him.' For now Floyd was content that he had Spencer under control. He would use the poppy oil to keep Sam in check and he would use Sam to keep Spencer in check. 'Tomorrow we pack and leave for a vacation at the beach. Wont that be fun?' Floyd stood in the corner of the kitchen and then slid down to sit on the floor. 'Sam princess come here.' He muttered, but for now Sam was keeping well away. Actually Sam was on his knees in the lounge running fingers longingly over the stain on the floor and then licking his slightly grazed fingertips. He didn't even hear Floyd calling for him. It wasn't until Spencer tossed a coaster at Sam's head that Sam looked up to see what was going on.

'Floyd wants you in the kitchen. I'll clean up the floor.' Spencer told him.

Sam's eyes went wide. 'You're have a fucking joke. He'll kill me. And leave that right where it is.' Sam ran fingers over the oily mark again. 'At least until I've got a proper supply.'

'Do you really want him to come to you and drag you down there? I'd go. He's not going to hurt you.' Spencer flopped down into his chair and sighed. 'Floyd needs to stop playing whatever game it is he thinks he's playing with Hotch. He's going to get himself killed.'

Dark eyes watched Spencer carefully. 'He's only happy if everyone around him is miserable.' Sam got to his feet. 'Leave that on the floor Spencer… please.'

Spencer just nodded and watched Sam walk slowly away as though he was walking to his death. Something had happened in the kitchen when he was talking to Floyd. Something which he thought Floyd felt too. Spencer knew that if Floyd had come for him he would have more than defended himself. He would have gotten that knife off Floyd and used it if necessary and he was sure that Floyd sensed that too. Reid wasn't sure yet if this was a good or a bad thing.

Floyd looked up when Sam finally showed himself at the kitchen door. 'You wanted me?' He asked Floyd but didn't actually step into the room.

'Hhmm.' Floyd held out a hand. 'Come here. I need a closer look.'

'Something wrong with your eyesight all of a sudden?' But he stepped forwards a bit and then a string of excuses started. 'It wasn't my fault. If he'd locked the bedroom door I'd not have gone in there. I went in for another blanket and he just looked so warm. I intended it just to be a few minutes cos my feet felt like ice and my hands were freezing and I just wanted to share some warmth. I didn't think for one minute that he'd do what he did. He's bigger than me… I mean taller and he held me so tight I couldn't get away and he raped me.' Sam sniffed then broke off into a long coughing fit.

'Why does everyone around me lie? If you just said that you went in there to get him to fuck you I'd understand a bit better maybe.' He clicked his fingers at Sam. 'Here. I just want to hold you.'

'You're not angry with me?'

'More angry than I know how to express myself. If I showed you exactly how angry I was I'd be making a new tobacco pouch out of your soft pale skin and nibbling on barbequed ribs. But I don't want to do that. You're lucky you caught me on a day when I'm feeling – forgiving. No not actually forgiving, but more… lethargic. Skinning someone properly takes time and effort and I've not got a drying rack. Come here and I'll let you taste some of this poppy oil.' Floyd pulled it out of his hoodie pocket and held it up. 'Come on princess what're you afraid of?'

'I'm afraid that you're going to skin me if you want an honest answer.'

Floyd pulled the stopper off the bottle. 'You'll not feel a thing. Come on rat… my little cunny… come and get what you want.' He placed a finger over the open top of the small phial and upended it. He then righted it again and held out a finger. 'Come suck.'

Spencer Has An Internal Rant.

I am so very angry. I thought I was angry with Sam but I'm more annoyed…

…with myself. I cant believe what I've done and what I've risked just for… for… I don't even know what for now. For some night time pleasure. I throw myself down on to the couch and stare at the books all lined up neatly, all in the right places, everything where I need it to be. I could just close my eyes and reach out and know I had the right book in my hand. I like my life ordered and neat and everything in its place and that's how it's been recently. I've found my place at work. I no longer feel uncomfortable inside my own skin. I don't feel like the _kid_ anymore. Except now that Floyd's back I've resigned. I would love to phone Hotch and ask him to forgive me, but I cant! I cant do that because if Floyd finds out it wouldn't be my life at risk but it would be Hotch's. Now I have to ask myself if I am going to sit back and let this situation control me or if I'm going to insist that Sam and Floyd leave. I don't intend going on holiday with them. I want to stay here and try to sort out my life and pull it all back together again and maybe have a chat with Strauss and see if I can salvage anything from this horrible mess I've allowed to happen. But no… what am I thinking of?

I get up and pull open the bottom drawer of the desk. At the bottom is a grey journal and in that book are my thoughts from when Floyd left. Maybe I should read it to remind myself… How much pain was I really in that he'd gone…?

'I'll have that.'

The book is snatched from my hands. 'Hey… no Floyd…' Dear god he cant read what I've put in there.

'I'm going to bed… With Sam. You have blankets and I have bed time reading.' He leans in and kisses me on the nose.

'Please…' I'm begging. 'It's private. Floyd…'

'Well I love private little things Spencer. Really do love them. Don't disturb us will you?'

I've not changed the bedding yet… Oh… 'Floyd. Let me change the sheets.'

'Naa.. the sheets are just great as they are. I can have Sam read out of this little book and I can lay there and smell the two of you on the bedding. Could it get much better than that? Wake me up with a coffee and maybe something to eat in the morning. We have a long drive.'

I try to snatch it out of his grip but he holds it behind his back and tells me to wrestle him for it. 'The words in there were written at a time of great distress. People say things they…'

He cuts me off. 'People tend to be more honest about their real feelings - if they don't think someone is going to read it especially. They let it all out Babes. If they were written at a time of great distress as you so beautifully put it then I think I'm going to be taken right to the depths of your pained torn aching soul.' Floyd hands my book over to Sam who walks with a skip back down to the bedroom.

'I'm begging you Floyd. It's private. Please don't.'

'Goodnight.' He says to me and turns to go, but then turns back and places a hand on the side of my face. 'You know Spence if I was capable of loving someone it would be you.'

And now he's gone. And in the morning I'm going to die. I think about running away but all I end up doing is sitting on the couch staring at the books and wishing my life was as ordered as they were. I can hear muttering sounds from the bedroom. Oh I hear a lot more than that, but I close my mind down and don't listen. I drink whiskey. I eat some ice cream. I read a few books. I write a few suicide notes which I then rip up and bin. I write a long apologetic letter to Floyd begging for forgiveness for everything I've ever done to annoy him… I rip that up too. I then write a simple note with only three words and that I don't rip. I get up and pick a book which I know Floyd likes and I slip it between the pages. Maybe one day he'll see it. For now… I'll say goodnight. I think I'll need all my wits and strength about me tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

15

Sam Reads Spencer's Journal To Floyd.

Wednesday: Floyd didn't come home again tonight. I waited up until midnight, but I've work tomorrow. I wish he'd carry a cell phone so that I can contact him.

Friday: Still no sign of Floyd. I've checked my emails a thousand times today. Not that I expect he will leave one, but he has done in the past. The bed feels so empty without him there. I feel so empty. Work is becoming more stressful than usual. Finding concentration difficult and I adore Pen but I wish she'd stop trying to cheer me up. Equally I would like Morgan to stop thinking that my low mood requires him to constantly joke about me. It's not always too amusing.

The Weekend: I've contacted hospitals and the local PD. As far as I can tell he's not laying in a hospital bed dying, or worse closed up in a morgue. The PD have no record of him over the past couple of weeks. I spend the weekend making phone calls, checking my email, looking through my books and eating ice cream. I had a very silly idea that he might have left me a message hidden in a book, but I was hoping too much. I will tidy up next week.

Thursday: A long few days away trying to find some missing children. All found safe and well of course, but no thanks to me. I feel like I'm not really contributing much recently and Emily has noticed. I'm sure Aaron and Dave have too, but it's Emily who's said something to me. I know she's just trying to be friendly… but I'm not telling her Floyd is missing. She's likely to go out looking for him. Emily has very pretty eyes. I had a pile of mail waiting and everything contained a letter thanking me for paying some thing or another. I didn't really look that carefully. Floyd always dealt with that side of things. Damn I miss him so much. I've checked to see if he's been back. Still no note in a book for me.

Monday: I've been given two weeks leave. They seem to think I'm suffering from some kind of trauma. Garcia offered to come round with more ice cream but I don't want company. I've checked emails… nothing. I've gone next door and asked if anything has been left for me. What I was expecting I don't know, but obviously there's nothing. I spend the afternoon calling the hospitals again and then the morgues and then the PD. I am told that there is no one fitting his description there. I really wonder if they're telling the truth though. Why would Floyd just walk out and not come back. His things are here still. He would have taken his things wouldn't he? If his purpose was never to return. It's slightly comforting seeing his clothes there. He will return. I know he will.

Wednesday: I drove down to the local hospital. I think I got a bit irate because they just wouldn't listen to me! I've been told to not come back. The Police though helpful were not so very helpful. They've told me if they hear anything they'll let me know. How long do I have to wait?

Friday: I had email from an unknown source, but I cant open it. My whole laptop now has a virus. I will ask Garcia to come around and look at it for me. My eyes are sore.

Sunday: Garcia came around yesterday. She fixed the laptop but the email which sent the virus has gone. I thought I was going to hit her! I really did. My hand was raised and my anger so deep. It might have been from Floyd and now I'll never know. I ate ice cream… I was very sick in the night and today I don't think I can eat at all.

Tuesday: Local PD have been round to see me. They've told me that I have to stop pestering them. They say that I'm becoming more than a pest and that the girl on the desk was actually quite alarmed at how angry I got.

Friday: How do I know if he's been arrested if they wont talk to me! The hospitals are hanging up on me now too. I've been so sick that I was puking up blood. I've checked the books for a note and there's nothing so I put one there in case he comes back. I've left the curtains open. I've left my key in the door just in case he's lost his. I've also started scratching and pinching at my arms. I would love to sink into that place where nothing hurts again. I really would love to do that. I actually will. I need to stop feeling so alone.

Sunday: Went out today to get something. It was such a stupid thing to do, but I'm in so much pain I needed to get rid of it somehow. I guess that it's fortunate that the guy I used to deal with is no longer around. I don't trust anyone enough to go elsewhere. I've been cutting my arms. I have thrown away my electric shaver and stocked up on razor blades. I need some sort of excuse for why they're there even if no one else sees them I will. I've stopped all the clocks. I cant sit here night after night watching time drag by and still have nothing but a feeling of deep loss. I'm grieving I think. I've been constantly sick and I know I'm losing weight again. My eyes are sore, my gums have been bleeding. I've started …

'Hey…' Sam stops reading from the journal. 'The words are smudged… I bet he was crying. Do you want me to carry on?'

'No.' Floyd took the journal from Sam and closed it. 'Time to just sleep I think.' Sam received a long deep kiss on the mouth and Floyd dropped the journal on the floor. 'Here.' Floyd held up the small phial. 'Something to help you sleep? Not too much – that's all I've got and I wont be able to get more where we're going.'

Floyd waited until Sam was snoring softly next to him and then picked up the journal and began to read to himself.

Week four: I know he's been gone missing before but in the past I've been so very sure that he was alright. I'm not so sure this time and I don't know why. I'm still being sick. My arms are a mess. I've started smoking! I feel like I'm falling apart slowly. When did I last wash my hair? I don't know. I spend my spare time checking emails or soaking in the tub. So much junk email and every time I see one I think it might be from Floyd. I have to check each one to make sure. I'm back at work but they can all see that something is wrong. Hotch's talked to me. He suspects drugs I'm sure of it but he's said nothing to actually accuse me. Tempted to ask Garcia if she can trace him but then they'll know what's wrong and they'll be trying to tell me how this is all for the best when I know it's not. How can I be feeling so alone and why would I be feeling this panic and pain if this was for the best? It's strange how you get to rely on someone so fully and not even realise it's happened. I stand for hours looking at his clothes and asking them what I should do. I'm losing my mind.

Week five: Still no messages for me… nowhere. Garcia is asking to come around for a movie marathon. I've said it's not convenient. I know that Morgan put her up to it. They're spying on me. I've been to see Hotch in his office. I've told him that I'm not feeling very well. I'm sure he can see that though. I have dark circles under my eyes and I noticed today that my fingernails look chipped and un-cared for. It's Dave though who actually asks the questions. He asks right out what the problem is. He's looking at me as though I have victim tattooed on my forehead. I tell him it's nothing. Nothing is wrong. Everything is great. I spend that evening walking round the streets. The back streets. Amongst the prostitutes and drug dealers. I ask if anyone has seen Floyd. No one has.

Month two: I've walked the streets until people see me coming and walk away. It's no use. If they've seen him they're not going to tell me. They know who I am. They don't want to talk to me. I've got a constant headache. I think if I could just talk to someone about this then I'd feel better, but only Hotch would even begin to understand and I'm not telling him. At least not yet. I think I'm going to have to tell someone eventually. I've put ads in the classified section of the newspapers. Local ones and national ones. Tried the hospitals once again and had the phone put down on me as soon as I said my name. Nothing… just nothing.

Month four: I've packed his clothes away. Not because I don't want to see them… or maybe that's partly why, but I don't want them to get ruined. I don't want them to lose their smell. It also hurts every time I open the closet to get my own things. I've packed all of his things away. I don't want to lose anything. I don't want anything to get broken. I've left most of his books on the shelves though. I read them constantly over and over again.

Month six: Where is he?

Month eight: I never realised that you could love someone this much. Eight months and that's closer to becoming a year than I like. I wish I'd left more of his things around. I've had my hair cut partly to spite him which is stupid as he wont even see it.

A year: I've not written in here for a while. That doesn't mean I don't miss him or love him. Every time someone knocks on the door I leap up hoping it's him. Every time I check emails, (which is very often) I hope one will be from him. Every time a letter arrives I look at the writing and hope.

The rest of the journal was full of disjointed words and feelings. Some of the pages were stuck together with what turned out to be drips of blood. Some of the words were smudged with drops of salty water. A couple of pages had been ripped out. Some words had been scribbled out. Floyd prodded Sam to make sure he was asleep and then slipped out of bed and crept from the bedroom. Spencer was sitting on the couch staring at the books. He'd not moved. Floyd dropped the journal on the couch next to him.

'I would have contacted you if I could.'

Spencer looked at Floyd with damp hazel eyes and nodded. 'I missed you.'

'So you told Hotch I was gone?' Floyd slumped down on the couch next to Spencer and curled an arm around his shoulders.

'Eventually. It felt that if I said something to someone that close… you know? I thought it would confirm it. It would make it too real, but I did have to say something and his reaction was odd. He seemed more concerned that he didn't know where you were than the fact that I was worried about you. He seemed annoyed that I'd not said something sooner so he could keep track of you. I was told I had to pull myself together and be thankful that you'd left quietly and not with a trail of bodies behind you. I didn't realise until he said that… that was the problem. You left so quietly. What happened? Where have you been?'

Floyd shrugged and pulled Spencer in closer. 'I was going to look for some yarrow plants for my nose bleeds and headache. Thought it might be better then the shit I'd been snorting. I walked out of the apartment and the floor just opened up under my feet and I was gone. At least gone from here. The bastards held me in fucking limbo for what felt an eternity. They told me…' He sighed and closed his eyes. '…told me that my… I had to…' He pulled his arm away from Reid and stood up. '… Well I'm back now.' He walked over to the books and ran his fingers over the old leather spines. 'What I cant figure out is that when I came back you just wanted me gone again.'

'I thought I'd moved on.' Spencer stood too and walked over next to Floyd. He placed a hand over Floyd's which was about to remove a book from the shelf. 'Don't. You've read that excuse for a journal - you don't have to read this too. And Floyd I was so angry with you. I still am. I'm so angry. That's why… you know?' Spencer gestured towards the bedroom. 'I was thinking - stupidly that I was punishing you.'

Floyd pushed away Spencer's hand. 'Well it worked and please don't for one minute think that my peaceful disposition now changes what I said earlier. You touch Sam again or allow him to touch you and there's going to be bloodshed and a lot of screaming.' Floyd pulled the book from the shelf and flicked through the first few pages. A bit of paper fluttered out and Spencer twitched and tried to put his foot over it. 'Hey Spence – after reading that shit you wrote in the book how bad could this possibly be?' Floyd placed his own foot over it and carried on flicking through the pages. Another bit of paper fell out. 'Oh my another one. Are there more?'

Spencer shook his head. 'Just two.'

'I'm only worth two?'

'It was more than I got from you.' Spencer snapped and walked back to the couch. He was getting lippy and was going to end up getting a slap… and maybe a couple of years ago Floyd would have slapped him for that, but not today. Today Floyd stayed his hand and after replacing the book picked up the two bits of paper. Without reading them he walked back to Spencer and knelt on the floor in front of him. He held them up so Spencer could see.

'Which one did you write first? I want to read them in the correct order. Spencer flicked one of the small scraps of paper with a finger.

'That one. The other I wrote today.'

'Did you? You don't feel that you can talk to me anymore? You have to leave notes hidden in books?' Floyd turned over the bit of paper but still didn't read it. 'Babes… if this is going to be real bad I'll just put it back.' But Spencer just shook his head. Floyd looked down at the slightly childlike writing on the paper. _I miss you. Where are you? Please come home._ 'Nice.' Floyd put the bit of paper on Spencer's knee. 'I missed you too babes.' He now looked down at the other bit of paper. _I Love You_. 'Oh dear you're turning into a right sop. You know I cant return this sentiment don't you? I'm a psychopath… did Gideon once try to say I was a sociopath, well that's wrong. He was off the mark there. But I don't think I can actually say I love you because I don't know what that means. What does it mean Spence? What thoughts form in your mind when you say that? What are you feeling? What chemicals are firing?'

'Why do you have to belittle my feelings Floyd? What pleasure do you get from that? I would find it easier for you to just admit that you use me and manipulate me for your own gain.'

'But I don't. I was serious Spence.' Floyd's fingers dug into the flesh of Spencer's knees. 'I need to know.'

Reid sighed. 'It's like my life cannot continue without you. My heart pounds in my chest as though it's trying to escape. My vision blurs, my skin tingles, my stomach twists and knots, my mouth goes dry… I want to hold you so badly that I think if I have to go another second and be without that my body will just give up living. It feels as though I would rather not exist than exist without you. The thought that you'll one day be gone forever terrifies me. I want to touch and smell and taste you. I want…'

'OK I get the idea. So it's slightly more than really liking a good movie but not as good as a fuck?'

'Why do I bother?' Spencer tried to push Floyd's hands away but they were grabbed and squeezed.

'I was kidding. I was joking with you.'

Spencer stared at Floyd's face taking in every little mark. He then looked Floyd right in the eyes. 'Jokes are meant to make people laugh. That wasn't funny and so was not a joke. I was being serious Floyd.'

Floyd nodded and let go of Spencer's hands. 'OK. It seems to me that love is basically a series of different chemicals flooding the brain which causes a feeling of total dependence upon that person. That cant be healthy.'

'Have you never felt that way about anyone?'

Floyd snorted a laugh and sat down in Spencer's chair. 'Me? Feel totally dependant upon someone? Come on now Spence I thought you knew me better than that.' Floyd began to clean his toenails with his fingers.

Spencer didn't bother saying anything else. He watched Floyd's vile hygiene routine though knowing full well that Floyd knew those feelings. He was just stubborn and refusing to admit it. What Spencer didn't know was if those feelings had ever been for _him_. He didn't feel right now that Floyd loved him even slightly. But maybe once he had. 'So where were you all that time? Just in limbo?'

Floyd looked up. 'Oh I wish it had been that simple Spencer. It's complicated and I don't feel like talking about it all right now, but I wasn't off screwing someone else. I didn't have time for such frolicking fun. Spent most of my time knee deep in mud with bullets flying over my head. Gotta love it when _They_ decide to have a little war.'

'You were fighting?'

Floyd put a hand over his heart. 'For my very existence my sweet thing, but I'm back for now.' He wiped his fingers on the front of his grubby hoodie and then started cleaning his teeth with his fingernails. 'When I say _for now_ – what I mean is… yeah… for now. If they can hijack me once and force me to do what they want then they can do it again.'

'You don't like being told what to do, do you? Maybe it…'

Floyd pointed a finger at Spencer. 'Oh please don't tell me it was good for me… Tell me something else. And no, I don't like being told what to do. They have no fucking rights over me. I don't hold any loyalty to any of them. I'm there on sufferance and not because I sit in a dark room with demonic writings over the wall done in my own blood and excrement. I do what they ask because I have no choice and before you ask me or even try to tell me, I know! I know it's what I do to Sam. I have to. I cant let him run wild. See what mischief he gets up to? I have to rule him Spencer or he will destroy everything including himself. And speaking of Sam I will go back to bed and…'

Spencer stood, picked up the two bits of paper and ripped them into tiny squares. He then threw the bits in the bin.

And Floyd stood and nodded. 'Well tomorrow we pick up the van and start off on our adventure. Get some sleep. I think we are going to have some wild times over the next few days. You'll need all your energy.'

The Following Morning.

Sam's happy mood seemed to draw off all the remaining happiness Spencer had been clinging onto. Reid wasn't the sort of person to take delight in the suffering of someone else but after Sam had skipped around a bit and held up different items of clothing for Floyd to see Sam's happy mood disintegrated. He wasn't allowed to shower for a start which caused a great amount of shouting and pleading and kicking of doors. He was told to pack his new clothes away and his wailing increased to a point that Spencer for once wished that Floyd would slap him.

'You'll just get dirty before we arrive. Put something else on.' Floyd told Sam. Sam's protestations that he'd stay clean didn't fall on deaf ears though. 'Do you really want to get your beautiful new clothes covered in blood and piss before you've had a chance to show them off?'

'They wont!' Sam seemed insistent.

Floyd was equally insistent though. 'Oh Sam my dear little… silly ignorant fool… of course they will.' He gripped a hold of Sam's shoulders and looked at Sam's dark eyes. 'I will make sure they will. Get your other stuff on before I give you a demonstration.'

Sam called Floyd a bastard amongst other things which actually made Spencer cringe. Reid had put on a pair of cords and a long sleeved shirt with a sweater over the top. He had a feeling it was going to get cold before it got warm again. He wished he could persuade Floyd to get a flight to where they were going but Floyd was banned from flying within the United States. Not because they were afraid he'd try to get away but because Floyd reacted very badly to being in flight and was considered a risk. The other choice was maybe a train.

'We could get the van loaded on the train and go that way? Then we'd have beds and…'

'I'm not going on a train!' Sam screamed the words. 'Bad very bad things happen on trains.'

Spencer had no idea what Sam was going on about. He couldn't remember Sam having problems on trains but maybe he'd missed something at some point.

'I got a van so we can drive… no need to stop to sleep, we can take turns.'

It sounded like the trip was going to be full of laughs. Spencer sighed and nodded. Then gave Floyd a frown. 'What are you doing poking around in my bag for?'

Floyd was rummaging around in Spencer's messenger bag. 'Looking for some of those plastic wrist cuff things.' He pulled a few out of the bag. 'Here..' He held them up for Spencer to see. '…these.'

'And what do you need those for? I cant drive if you've cuffed me to the seat.'

Floyd's eyes flickered to Sam and back to Spencer and he raised an eyebrow. 'I'll only need them on you if I think you're going to do something stupid, so I suggest you don't.'

Spencer's Thoughts On The Road Trip.

It's going to take about ten or twelve hours to drive to this… this whatever it is Floyd had purchased. He's going on about sandy beaches but seems to have forgotten that it's mid winter and will likely be snowing there – if not now, but soon. It's going to be a disaster; I know it will. He has decided that because of the short journey that he will drive the whole time. I've tried persuading him that I can drive part of the way but it seems that the more I try to offer the more paranoid he's becoming.

I was also wondering how I was going to sit up front in the van and not have physical contact with Sam. Stupid thing to even consider as Floyd already has that well in hand. You have to remember that Floyd isn't someone who will lash out when he's angry. Floyd will lash out just because he's bored, or too hot, or too cold, or you look at him the wrong way…oh I could go and give you such a list but please remember that this man is a psychopath and his mind doesn't work like everyone else's mind. At least it doesn't work like mine. (But I'm unique I've been told.) I stood and watched what Floyd did to Sam firstly because I couldn't have stopped him if I'd tried and secondly because I knew Floyd wouldn't have killed Sam. Yes he dragged him by his hair into the back of the van, pushed him onto his front and hog tied him, but he didn't actually hit him. I can see though why Floyd said about blood and urine. Sam has struggled. No person would voluntarily be tied up in the back of an empty van and _not_ struggle and that has resulted in the plastic binders cutting into Sam's wrists and ankles. He's told that something will be added around his neck if he didn't stop wriggling. Sam stopped.

Of course I tried to reason with Floyd. What if we were stopped? We cant have a young man tied up in the back of the van. We'd be arrested and charged, but Floyd says he's going to drive carefully and asks me what else I thought he was going to do with Sam. I would like to crawl in there just to let him know that I'd not let Floyd hurt him, but I don't think I'd be crawling out again if I did and how can I protect him and keep an eye on what Floyd is doing if I'm tied up in the back too.

And things don't end there. Well why would they? Floyd has made the stupid decision to drive all the way and so as I'm not needed to drive I've been secured by one ankle to a strut under the seat. Now again I ask what will happen if we're pulled over and again Floyd says that he's going to drive carefully. At least I have the small, very small comfort that now that I'm being held too I wont be held accountable for the Sam situation. There is also the worry that we'll be involved in an accident. I don't voice this worry though because I know he'll just moan on at me that I don't think he's a safe driver. I know he is. Maybe he's reckless on his bike sometimes but considering who he is he's had very few bad accidents. He puts a bucket on the floor at my feet and tells me that's to avoid rest stops. He's in a generous mood today. All fired up for his holiday adventure no doubt. An adventure which I know is going to be a vacation from hell.

He starts driving carefully. I at least have to give him that much credit. Sam though is making a dreadful noise in the back and my fear that someone is going to report this is increasing as the miles drift by. I don't want to tell – I mean _ask_ Floyd to do something to keep him quiet because I know what that will involve. It's when the traffic gets a bit heavier and Floyd is swerving dangerously between vehicles that Sam's screams reach a point that Floyd at last realises that he has to do something to quieten him. He pulls over and grabs a bag where we have stuffed them behind the seats.

'He's going to get us in trouble.' Floyd is moaning as he pulls out the phial. I don't know if I'm happy that he's going to try to drug Sam or concerned. At least Sam will not be hurting… It's not how I should be thinking but I know how much this thing is digging and scraping into my ankle – Sam must be in agony. He's not gone long but Sam is quiet now. I don't know what Floyd has done.

'Did you give him some?' I gesture at the phial he is putting away again.

'No.' He answers me and my stomach hitches. 'What's _your_ fucking problem?' Floyd snaps at me.

'I was just thinking that if you untied him he wouldn't be in so much pain.'

'Are you questioning my reasoning?' He starts up the van and we are drifting back into the traffic again.

'Not questioning it no. Could you maybe untie me though?'

'Why? You planning on running out on me Spencer?' He's looking at me and not where we are going.

'No but it's hurting.' I settle back into the seat and try to force him to look where he's driving again. He gives the road quick glances and I just know that we're going to end up in a smash. If not here, then later on when he's been driving for ten hours.

'Hurt as much as this does it?'

And I turn to look at what he means just as he swipes me across the face with a hard backhand. I let out a yelp of surprise and then there's pain in the side of my head, one side as his fist makes contact and the other as my head smacks on the window.

Next time I open my eyes it's dark and the van has pulled over again. Floyd's not in the driver's seat and I feel that knot of panic rising mixed in with the dreadful headache I've now got. I listen out for sounds in the back of the van and I think I can hear Sam crying, but nothing else. We seem to be in a parking lot of a small diner. He's taken a bit of a risk leaving us here. Unless he's in the back. About ten minutes later Floyd opens the van door and gets back in again. He smiles a tired smile at me and sighs.

'Had to make a phone call.' He mutters. 'All sorted now. You want something to eat, drink, suck?'

I am gasping for a coffee and I give him a slow nod. 'A drink would be nice.' I take a deep breath. 'Is Sam alright?'

Floyd glances at the dividing wall of the van and shrugs. 'Well he's crying so I assume he's not dead. I'll get you a coffee. Five minutes. Don't go anywhere and if you even think of asking for help I'll boil your balls in sugar. We're doing OK. Everything's going to be great. You'll see.' And he slides out of the van and is jogging over to the diner. He brings back two card mugs of coffee and I ask him if he got anything for Sam and he tells me that he didn't bother.

'You should at least check up on him Floyd. It's really not fair.'

'Fair? You should know by now that life's not fair. He cant drink coffee if he's tied up.'

I don't bother saying I'll go and help him. I don't bother asking Floyd to. I know it'll end up with Sam getting covered in scalding hot coffee. It's probably best that until I'm free and able to help that Floyd stays away from him. He only sips a couple of times of his coffee and then throws it out of the window and starts up the van again.

'Careful sweet.' He touches my arm. 'Don't spill that on your lap. Don't have time right now to kiss it better for you.'


	16. Chapter 16

16

Arrival.

It was close to three in the morning when they finally arrived. It was snowing but not heavily. The ground though was horribly slippery, but that didn't seem to bother Floyd as he skidded and slid around bends at one point mounting the pavement and narrowly avoiding sliding gracefully in through a small shop window. Spencer didn't tell Floyd to slow down or be careful. There was no point. He'd been saying it for the past three hours and received a nose bleed for his efforts.

'Ungrateful son of a whore!' Floyd shouted.

It was enough to keep Spencer quiet for the remainder of the journey. Sam's cries had turned into an odd mewling sound which Spencer found particularly creepy as they skidded once again and ended up gently resting against the side of a tree. The engine stuttered and stopped and Floyd swore at it until it started again and they slew their way the short remaining distance. The building they eventually pulled up in front of looked like something from a Christmas card. It would have been nicer if Floyd hadn't slammed on the brakes and skidded down the drive and smacked nose on into a big tree. Spencer made an _umph_ sound as he was thrown forward. He wisely had his seat belt on which probably saved him from flying out of the front window leaving his foot still connected to the strut. There was a thump from the back and a howl as Sam made hard contact with something.

'Home sweet home.' Floyd announced. 'Stupid fucking place to put a tree though.' He pushed open the door and jumped out into the snow. 'Fucking snow!' He shouted out over the white sheet covering everything. Spencer sat unable to move because of the way he was tied to the seat and just waited. He could hear the crunching of footsteps as Floyd went around to the back of the van. He heard the creak of the doors opening then the slam of them shutting again – and now the crunching of Floyd's returning feet. He pulled open the door again and frowned at Spencer. 'You not going to fucking help?'

Spencer shrugged. 'I cant get out.'

'Oh shit. I forgot. Would have left you there all night thinking you were sulking.' Floyd let out an odd sound which might have been a laugh and then pulled his bag out from behind the seats. 'I'll cut that off you now. Babes, you see that house? It's not what I thought it would be. It's sort of bigger and not all on one level. Maybe it's the wrong place. Go and check… oh sweets don't move, going to cut this off… then go check that there's a key under that big old pot out front will you. I asked them to leave a key there for me. I'm going to get Sam sorted. You don't want to see the mess he's made.'

He at least was careful not to slice into Spencer when he cut the binder off. 'Thank you.' Spencer muttered as he rubbed life back into his lower leg and foot. Spencer then limped over to the porch which seemed to run along all sides of this building and tipped up the big earthenware pot. There was an envelope under it with _Welcome to your new home Dr Reid_… written upon it. It was definitely the right place then. He didn't take the key out of the envelope though he could feel there was one in there. Even though it was his name written on the front he knew Floyd would be angry if he opened it. He stood on the porch and watched across the darkness at Floyd who seemed to be dragging Sam out of the van by a leg.

'Get up you lazy fuck!' Floyd was shouting. Any words from Sam were lost in the breeze, the ice cold breeze coming off the sea. The only light was from the headlights of the van and they sent eerie shadows over the ground. Sam was dragged by one foot over the snow towards the house leaving a slightly bloody smear in his wake. He was bumped up the steps and Floyd stood there smiling as though he'd just been out hunting and had shot a prize deer for dinner. 'Got the key?' Spencer showed the envelope. 'Open it then and let's get inside. I'm freezing my nuts off here.'

The door opened up into a long wide hallway with a flight of stairs which wound up to the right. It smelt slightly of damp plaster but a quick feel around for light switches showed a clean dust free hall. Sam crawled to the nearest corner and curled up. Spencer could smell the stench coming from him and he really hoped that Floyd was going to let Sam shower. The blood on his ankles glistened in the light. There was a door right ahead of them with two doors to the left and a smaller one which was under the rise of the stairs.

'It's lovely.' Spencer said. Though he wasn't sure that it was yet. There was a funny feel about the place. Something that he didn't want to put into words in case he sounded a fool, but there was something wrong. Maybe it was the keening mewling sounds and the smell coming from Sam and maybe it was the insane grin on Floyd's face. 'Shall we look around?'

'Yes! Go explore. I'm going to find the bathroom and drown… wash Sam. You really like it?'

'I love it. Thank you Floyd. It was a wonderful idea and a beautiful gift.' He licked his lips and gave Floyd a quick kiss on the mouth. 'Go help Sam and I'll have a look and make sure that the kitchen comes up to standard.' He smiled and ran fingers lightly over the front of Floyd's jeans. 'Then we can go find the bedrooms.'

'You_ little_ slut.' Floyd smirked.

'I don't know how else to express my gratitude.'

'Maybe see if there's any coffee. They said it'd be fully stocked.'

'Good idea… now where's the kitchen?' Spencer walked off before Floyd's happiness left him. He wanted him to be gentle with Sam. The kitchen was big and clean and lovely. There seemed to be a door leading out to the back of the house which faced the sea but there were no lights out back to see exactly what was out there. The kitchen had a larder stocked with food and cupboards with every food item anyone (but Floyd no doubt) would ever want. There was a jar of coffee sitting on the counter next to the machine which Spencer filled and got ready. He then went back out into the hall and tried the other doors. One led to a small dining room. It was furnished but there was nothing personal there. No ornamentation, nothing on the walls… but the table looked ancient. The floor was bare wood; the windows had long dark drapes over them. There was also a large open fireplace. The other room was a lounge. Big couches, empty bookshelves, a television, bare display cabinets and a rug on the floor. Spencer thought it was the kind of place he could feel comfortable in if it wasn't for that strange niggling feeling that something was wrong. He then tried the door which was tucked in under the stairs but it seemed to be locked. 'Why are you locked?' Spencer asked the door. He ran his fingers over the wood and then walked back to the kitchen to check on the coffee. Reid was hungry. His stomach was growing horribly, but he didn't make anything to eat. He needed Floyd to see the tidy kitchen first before he made a mess trying to cook something. He was also aware that Floyd always thought of the kitchen as his own domain and he might well be irritated by Spencer trying to take over.

'Everything alright?' Floyd breathed onto the back of Spencer's neck.

He jumped and spun around. 'You scared me. Yes everything is good. It's lovely. Do you want something to eat?' He wanted to ask how Sam was but didn't somehow feel it was safe to do so.

'Food would be great. I'm going to make up the beds and check on Sam. He's feeling a bit rough maybe next time he'd rather go by train.' There was no look of amusement on Floyd's face. He seemed to be serious. 'See if there's pizza will you?' Floyd turned to leave but Spencer called him back.

'Does this place have a history?'

'Not now Spence. I'll talk to you about the house later. Let me settle first Babes. Pizza… coffee… see if there's some ice cream? I wont be long. Have you looked at the other rooms?'

Spencer smiled maybe a little too much. 'I have and they're lovely. The door under the stairs is locked though.'

'Silly people.' Floyd walked into the hall and wiggled the door handle. 'Some people are just so superstitious don't you think?' He then walked back to the stairs and clumped back up them calling to Sam as he went.

Reid went out to the van and turned off the engine which was still rattling away. He collected all the bags and dragged and carried them into the house. The snow was falling heavier now. It looked like they'd arrived just in time. Sam was out of the tub and standing outside one of the upstairs rooms moaning at Floyd about something which Spencer couldn't make out, but again and probably for a good reason Sam was complaining about something. 'I have the bags.' Spencer announced and when neither Floyd nor Sam answered he carried on. 'So you've decided who's having which room?'

Sam turned to Spencer with an expression full of spite. 'Oh yes, he's chosen our rooms. I've got the broom closet. There's always fucking conditions on everything. Behave and I can have clothes, be nice and I can have my stuff, stop moaning and I can have a proper bedroom, but I've been nice and I've behaved and nothing! I might as well go out naked in the streets and whore every man and woman I see cos I'm never going to behave or be nice enough for you am I?'

'Pizza is nearly done and coffee is brewed and Sam if you want now we are here you can put your things on.' Spencer thought this was a risky statement and maybe crossing one of Floyd's lines but Sam was right. Spencer was told to dump the bags and get back down stairs. He grabbed Sam's bag from Reid and threw it at Sam.

'Do what he says.'

And then more moaning. 'And what's the point? We're going to be snowed in somewhere horrible and no one's going to see me anyway. What did we have to come here for? Why couldn't we have just stayed where we were? I don't like it here. It's the middle of fucking no where and I don't much like the sea anyway and certainly not in the fucking winter. We're going to freeze to death and I want to go home!'

Floyd followed Spencer downstairs and into the kitchen. 'He's never fucking happy.' Floyd snapped. 'I sat on the edge of the damned tub massaging life back into his limbs and he's still fucking moaning. You have to give him discipline Spencer. Don't give into him so quickly. He shouldn't have been given his stuff yet, but now it's done…'

'And I bought them for him remember. Pass a plate and I'll sort this out.'

The Curse of Murran-Beach House.

Reid wanted to know what the superstition was which caused whoever had to lock the door under the stairs. Once they were all settled and pizza was being eaten and Floyd had located a bottle of red wine he started to tell them.

'Well the place is apparently cursed. But I don't think we have to worry about it. Got the place cut price because of it. No one wants to live here, though it seems they're happy to deliver goods, just not stay over night.' Floyd leaned forward and gave Spencer a close look. 'You know in the story of Peter Pan if you say that you believe in fairies then they live… or is that that if you don't that they die? Either way the same thing applies to a curse. If you want to think it's real then it'll have you by the balls and drag you down. You need to remember that things like that only have power if you believe in them.'

'Does that mean if I stop believing in you, you'll fuck off and leave me alone?' Sam quipped.

'No sunshine… sorry about that.'

'Even though you're a curse _and_ a fairy?' Sam stuffed more pizza into his mouth.

'I'm going to ignore that comment Sam. The thing is that people who live here die nasty or unexpected deaths. The original owner was a retired gent who lived here only during the summer season. He had a boat thing… he took his wife and four grown up children and two grand kids on a sailing trip. They never returned. The house was sold by surviving family members and someone else moved in. A couple with two teenaged daughters. The wife died by falling down the stairs after they'd only been here a week, one daughter died a month later. RTA. The other daughter died two weeks later when a truck lost control and splattered her against a tree. The father killed himself. Poor chap. Then the house was sold again. The couple who purchased it never even made it down here to live. There was some sort of mad man in the bank who shot a load of people. No one died except for that couple. Oh and the list goes on. There've been eight families who've lived here. No one has made it past a full year except for that first retired gent, but he was only here for long weekends in the summer. Maybe it took a while for it to catch up.' Floyd paused and lit up a cheroot. Spencer and Sam sat with mouth's agape staring at Floyd. 'Now all you need to be aware of is that for some reason they think it's connected with the cellar. I've not been down there to look but I will. Not tonight though.'

'You bought Spencer a cursed house? You're fucking insane! I _want_ to go home!'

'You don't have a fucking home Sam! You were living on the streets and you're welcome to leave if you don't think you have the courage. If you're scared.'

'Hell yes I'm scared! These things… they might not be real but they have a way of happening anyway. You just killed us! I don't fucking believe what you've done! Fuck!'

Reid put down the cold slice of pizza he'd been nursing. 'Well… Just be careful. No boat trips, no messing around on the stairs and don't let Floyd drive. That should cover all bases.'

'No.' Floyd picked up Spencer's discarded pizza slice and pulled off the tomato. 'You cant do that Spence… what you have to do is laugh at it. Tell it that it doesn't exist. Don't let it even tickle slightly at your mind… ignore it. It will go away and we will prove it. Curses are made by demonic spells. You know that don't you? Each is assigned to its own. Each needs you to believe in it. Can you see what I'm getting at? If you give that demon no power it cant hurt you.'

Spencer watched Floyd picking at the bit of pizza. For some reason he thought that Floyd didn't believe what he was saying. Floyd looked nervous. 'OK – so if it's just a matter of not believing in it why don't you check out the cellar now?'

The bit of pizza was torn to shreds and placed on the plate. 'Because that's not what I said was it? I said _you_ have to give it no credence. For me it's slightly different. I'll check out the cellar tomorrow though if you don't mind. It's the early hours of the morning and my wits are slowing down. I want to sleep and I think just for tonight that we should each stay in our own rooms.'

'NO!' Sam stood. 'I'm not sleeping alone! Damnit Floyd you cant lock me in a fucking broom cupboard after saying that! I'll choke on some poison rag or suffocate or something. I'm not sleeping alone. Please don't make me sleep alone! I cant stay in that dark place on my own. I'm too young to die!' He flopped back down on the couch and broke into a long hacking cough.

'The first step to eradicating the curse is to not believe.' Floyd snapped at Sam. 'and you need to sleep alone to prove that.'

'Fuck I don't! And if you don't let me sleep with you I'll sleep with Spencer.'

'You'll exit your room near the top of the stairs in the dark and walk down a passage with creaking floorboards and manage to get to Spence without me hearing your pathetic whining?'

Sam slipped off the couch onto his knees. 'Just tonight Floyd. Please. Just so I can say I slept here a full night.'

Floyd nodded slowly. 'Very well. All three of us.' Though Floyd didn't look so sure about this arrangement.

In Which Spencer Sleeps with Floyd and Sam.

For a start I should say that we remained almost fully clothed. For Floyd that's nothing strange, for me, well I'd rather have been in pyjamas but Floyd gave me loud spit filled instructions that I was to keep my clothes on. Sam though… Sam isn't the sort of person who has a nudity taboo of any kind. He would rather be naked when sleeping. He was dragged back down to what he called _The Broom Closet_ and told to find something in his bag which would pass as clothing. He wouldn't go in the room alone though. Because it was probably once a nursery or a servants room. It's just big enough for a small bed and place to keep your clothes. A small window over looks the front of the house. He was hauled back again wearing sweatpants and a bathrobe. There then had to be a decision made about who was sleeping where in the bed. A _huge_ bed it must be said. I was sitting on the end of it quietly wondering how long peace can possibly last in this house with the three of us. I wish Sam wasn't here. I really desperately do. I wanted to spend time with Floyd, getting used to having him around again and Sam is getting in the way. He is constantly moaning and whining about everything and shows no respect for anyone or anything. I should have more patience. I realise that he's messed up in that head of his but why do I have to put up with it?

Floyd requests that Sam sleeps in front of him and that I sleep behind. This way I don't have physical contact with Sam which is good. What happened should never be and _will_ never be repeated. Sam though goes right back to moaning about not feeling safe. He's yabbering on about things under the bed which can grab and pull him off the bed and drag him into hell. He's saying that it's not safe and not fair as he's the youngest (and prettiest he adds) to be right at the edge. Floyd treats him like he's a young child and checks under the bed for him and this just irritates me all the more. I don't say anything though. I just sit and watch Sam's performance and Floyd who had hog tied Sam and left him for – as it ended up – fourteen hours in the back of the van now treating him like a spoilt infant. No wonder Sam acts the way he does when Floyd pampers his immaturity. I am trying to feel sorry for him, but I'm finding it very difficult. Under normal circumstances he'd be in treatment somewhere being fed medication on a locked ward. Or more likely behind bars. In segregation. I rub at my eyes and yawn. When are we ever going to lay down and sleep! Finally Floyd decides that Sam can sleep in the middle but now he cant decide if he should be facing me or him or on his back or front! Eventually almost half an hour later it's decided. Though how it's going to stay like it whilst we sleep I don't know. I will lay facing the edge of the bed. Sam will lay facing Floyd who will be facing Sam. It's the only thing that's going to stop Sam moaning long enough for us to be able to sleep before the sun comes up again and that's not going to be long now. Tomorrow I will sleep in my own room. I'm just about to drift off to sleep… I'm warm and though Sam's got his backside pressed against mine I can ignore it just so I can get some sleep… and then he starts again.

'I need a piss.' He says.

'Go have one then.' Floyd grumbles.

'But I don't want to go alone.' He whines.

It's the end really. I'm not going to lay here and put up with this any longer. I don't say anything to either of them, but I get out of the bed open the door and exit. My own room has had the bed made up – thanks to Floyd – it's cold in there but I'll soon warm up again. After all I am still fully clothed. I snuggle under the bedclothes and try to ignore the moaning and whining going on across the passageway. Doors slam. Voices shout… and then at last blessed silence. Well silence except for the birds which have begun their dawn chorus – some kind of gull which if I wasn't half asleep I could name for you… I think it's a Kittiwake.

They Come With Food and Questions. 

Spencer wakes up in the morning to the smell of eggs and toast. At first he thought it was coming from downstairs and happily wafting up but when he rolled over Floyd was sitting on the edge of the bed.

'Breakfast.' He announced and picked a tray up off the floor. 'Absolutely totally promise that there is not one single body part on the plate and no poison or drugs in the coffee. Sit up sleepy head and I'll spoon feed you. I'm not sure why you bolted off in such a sulk last night. I had all sorts of problems trying to get Sam to settle again. He's like a wound up spring. Not sure what's going on with him. Open wide… here comes the train…' Floyd sat with a spoon of egg wavering in front of Reid's mouth which didn't much look like it was going to open. Reid carefully took the spoon from Floyd and gave him a look which could wither a lesser man. 'What's wrong?' Floyd asked him.

Spencer placed the spoon down on the plate. 'What do you _think_ is wrong? You're normally very good at reading me. Tell me what you think is bothering me and why I came in here to sleep last night.'

Floyd shrugged. 'At least drink the coffee. I think you have a problem with Sam.'

Reid thought that was rather a genius answer. 'You must have had to think really hard to come up with that conclusion. It's not Sam I have a problem with so much as the way you treat him. You tell me I was wrong to say he could have proper clothes to wear and then you look under the bed for monsters? I don't get it. I want to feel sorry for him. I want to understand what's going on and just as I get it all figured out it's _all change_ again. One minute you're being… I don't know… you expect him to survive the streets and be able to care for himself and then you're treating him with less care than someone would a pig going to slaughter and then you're telling him he can sleep with us and you treat him like a child. No wonder he's confused.'

'Oh that's got nothing to do with anything.' Floyd stands and taps the tray. 'Bring that down with you. Got to go. Sam's…' He stopped and sighed. 'Sam's fucking going out of his brain with fear. I don't want to leave him…' He walked to the door and pulled it open. 'I'm not being soft on him Spencer I just don't…' He stopped and walked through the door. 'Just come down when you're ready.'

'Do you think I'm not a bit scared after what you said? If what you said was true of course.' Spencer sipped at the coffee.

'It's going to get Sam. It will get him and it'll rip him apart and then spit out his bones and then it'll come after you.' Floyd closed the door and Spencer sat there shivering and spilling drips of coffee as his hands shook. Now feeling more than a bit sick he had to force himself to eat. It was a stupid claim that Floyd made. He made a decision to go into the small town they'd skidded through the night before and ask around. Maybe get a coffee and talk to the locals. Someone would have something to say if this was real. He would treat it like he was investigating something with the team… If there was any truth in it he _would_ get to the bottom of it.

Reid took the tray down and found Sam sitting on the kitchen work surface talking quietly to Floyd who was loading up the dishwasher. The chatter stopped when Spencer walked into the room. He placed the tray down on the work surface above the dishwasher. 'I'm going out for a walk.' He told them. The atmosphere felt so wrong that Spencer didn't want to hang around. If the pair of them were going to play games then let them. Spencer wanted no part. He put his shoes on and then was about to go and find a coat when someone started hammering on the door.

'Don't open it!' Sam screamed.

Spencer ignored him and had a look through the spy hole. It was a woman with a green woolly hat on. He opened the door and smiled at her. 'Hi!' And a small wave.

'Hello. I have this.' She held out a casserole dish. 'I came over to introduce myself.' She looked as though she wanted to come in and as it was still snowing and blowing a gale through the house Spencer took the dish and stepped out of the way to let her in. 'I'm Monica. I was wondering if Doctor Reid was around?'

'OH!' Spencer looked at the kitchen door which had been shut. 'I'm Dr Reid.' He smiled nervously. 'Was there something you wanted?' He placed the dish down on a small side hallway table. 'Come through to the lounge. I'm sorry I'm not really used to entertaining.'

She nodded knowingly and followed him to the lounge. She declined coffee or alcohol and so Spencer sat twisting his fingers in his lap.

'We – by that I mean some people – locals… villagers were awoken last night when you arrived.' She said.

'The roads got extremely hazardous surprisingly quickly. We only just made it here in time I think.'

She nodded again as though she already knew all of this. 'And you are with your wife and child?'

Spencer didn't quite know what to say to this. 'What made you think I was married?'

She gestured at Spencer's finger. 'The ring for a start and also it stated on the housing contract. I'm from the realtors. It said Dr Reid, wife and child.'

There was a slightly confused nod from Spencer. 'Well that would be a reason why you'd know.' He stood. 'I'm very sorry but we only arrived last night as you are aware and there's a lot to sort out.'

'I was hoping to meet your wife and child.' She said not moving from the couch.

'It's not possible right now. Maybe you can come back or perhaps you'll see them in town.' He walked to the door. 'Let me show you out and thank you for the food. That was very thoughtful and I'm sure that my wife will be pleased not to have to cook today.' He walked into the hallway and slowly Monica stood and walked out into the hall. She stood for a while looking at the small door under the stairs.

'You know about the curse?' She enquired.

Spencer looked at the door too and then shrugged. 'I don't believe in such things. I do believe in coincidence and self fulfilling prophecy though.'

'Well I hope to see the rest of your family when they're ready to show themselves. It was nice to meet you Dr Reid. I'll see you in town. You can bring the dish to the realtors. There's only one. You cant miss it.'

Spencer opened the door and let the woman out. He stood watching her walk down the small driveway and then she crunched over the snow towards where the street would normally be if it wasn't covered in thick snow. And there was more to come. The air was icy cold and the sky full of thick snow filled clouds. Reid shuddered and closed the door. When he turned around Floyd and Sam were standing there.

'What did she want?' Floyd snapped.

'She brought over a stew or casserole.' He gestured towards it. 'Oh and she wanted to meet my wife and child.'

Floyd snorted a laugh. 'Well yes… I had to say you were married otherwise the house would not have been sold to me. It's a lark huh?'

'No it's not a _lark_. Which of you is my wife and which is my demonic child?' Floyd had his hand resting on the back of Sam's neck. When was the last time he'd done that for Spencer? He couldn't remember. They seemed quite comfortable together and the more Spencer stayed here to watch the more of an outsider he was feeling. 'I'm going for a walk into the town to see what's there. If we intend on staying here I'd like a job and I think Sam should get one too.' He ignored the howl of protest from Sam. 'I'm sure even Sam can shovel snow for people.' Spencer looked around again for a coat and realised that it was either back at home or up in his room. He turned and opened the door intending to leave as he was in a shirt and sweater.

'Spence… you'll freeze.' Floyd walked forward pulling Sam with him. 'Be careful.'

'If you freeze it'll be because of the curse!' Sam shouted.

'It will be because I'm sick of seeing Floyd paw and maul you. I'll be back later.' Reid pulled the door closed and left Sam and Floyd standing in the hallway.

'He's a jealous bitch.' Sam muttered and walked back to the comfort of the kitchen.


	17. Chapter 17

17

Spencer Takes A Walk In The Snow.

Reid's mind kept wandering back to the way Floyd was kneading the back of Sam's neck. He hated this feeling he had inside of him. A sick ugly feeling which he wanted to get rid of by walking fast and getting fresh air in his lungs. He was wearing a pair of green lace up canvas shoes though and the wetter they got in the snow the more he seemed to find just the wrong places to tread. Spencer wasn't a great fan of the snow. He'd been raised in Vegas and snow hadn't been part of his childhood and now he didn't want it to be part of his adulthood either. A couple of times just as he reached the main row of shops he slipped and almost stumbled to his knees and was only saved by clinging hold of a lamp post the first time and the back of a bench the second. The street he was now standing in had Christmas lights across the road. A lotthe shops had bright happy displays but it didn't put Spencer in a happy mood. It just reminded him of what a dreadful Christmas it had been. The sudden arrival of Floyd should maybe have been good, but with Sam thrown into the mix… and his mind again drifted to that hand on the back of Sam's neck. The problem wasn't that Floyd was having (he assumed) sex with Sam. The problem was that he was showing affection. He was showing Sam more physical _love_ than he'd been showing Spencer and _that's_ what was bothering Reid. It was the gentle touching. But he then had to remind himself of the way Floyd treated Sam on the way here. Was it an apology of some kind? Spencer didn't know. Looking around this place though he could see that it was a holiday village. Half of the shops were closed for the season and had blinds pulled down in the windows. The other half with their over bright over happy over festive window displays seemed somehow wrong. Even for Spencer they seemed a bit over the top. He looked back down the road in the direction he'd come from. He couldn't _see_ the house from where he stood; his line of sight was blocked by a closed up ice cream store. He could _feel_ it though. A sort of nagging pulling feel. It was telling him to go home. It was calling him back again.

'Ridiculous.' Spencer muttered and walked slowly towards what looked to be a book store with an adjoining coffee shop. 'So why do I feel like I need to go back again?' He whispered to himself. 'What are Sam and Floyd up to in that house?'

The other odd thing about this place was the distinct lack of people. Though there were people standing at counters waiting to serve in the shops there didn't seem to be anyone walking around. Spencer stamped his freezing feet and walked in through the doorway to the book store with the intention of finding something to read and hopefully read it to Floyd when Sam was sleeping. He gave the woman behind the shop counter a cursory nod and then stood in front of the shelves of books.

'Is there something in particular you're looking for?' The woman was standing suddenly next to Reid with an inquisitive smile on her face. 'Are you from the house?'

'Hi.' Reid said and nodded. 'I was looking for local history.' He told her, though that's not what he'd been thinking when he walked in here.

'You'll find nothing about the house if that's what you're looking for. No one would even consider writing it all down, but there's general local history available at the rear of the shop. These are novels.' She told him as though he was simple.

Spencer frowned at her. 'And why would no one write about the history of the house?'

'Hush! It shouldn't even be spoken of. The old priest would have been able to tell you what you want to know, but he's not with us anymore.' She crossed herself quickly and smiled nervously. 'This is a good read.' She pulled a book off the shelf and handed it to Reid. 'Are you the doctor? I was told that the new occupant was a doctor. Would that be a medical doctor by any chance?' She carried on without waiting for Reid to deny or confirm.

He took the book from her and turned it over a few times in his hands. It was a novel about love and hardship. He normally wouldn't have been at all interested in such things but it was the book title which caught his attention… _Flanders' Poppies._ He was tempted to just stand there for ten minutes or so and read it but he didn't think it was something he necessarily needed to read. 'I just came in to browse.' Spencer put hands in his pockets and fished out a few coins. 'I don't have enough money on me to purchase it.'

'Don't worry. Take it. Pay later. I know where you are. You know where I am.' She took the book and slipped it into a bag. 'Be careful out there Dr Reid. The ground is treacherous. Wouldn't like to see you have an accident on your first day.

'Indeed.' Spencer took the bag. 'And thank you. I'll pay for it when I'm next…'

'Oh have it as a gift. A welcoming present.'

Why did Spencer feel like he was being threatened, or maybe he was being warned? Originally he'd wanted to have a coffee too but now decided to walk back to the house. 'Thank you.' He muttered as he walked to the door wondering if he'd told her his name. He couldn't remember telling her his name.

'Most welcome. Hope to meet the rest of your family soon. We have books for all ages and types.'

Spencer didn't answer. He didn't want to get into a conversation about his imaginary family now. He wanted to get home and see what was going on. The book made him nervous. The book was telling him to go home. He wanted to run, but his feet were now numb with the cold and walking was difficult enough – running was out of the question. He made his way back the way he'd come. He could see his footprints in the snow… only his. No one else had walked down here since the snow had stopped. Either everyone was keeping away or they got to the shops from a different direction. He planned on checking out the population of this place when he got home… if there was a computer… if there was internet… if there was anything. An ice cold wind was now blowing from the sea. Spencer thought that if he wasn't so cold it might smell of that lovely scent the sea always blows in, but the could smell nothing but the same snowy chill air. There was a faint noise of a vehicle coming. He could hear tyres crunching on snow and an engine struggling to keep going. He wondered at first if it was Floyd, but no, it was coming from behind him. Reid turned to look and saw a red SUV coming much too fast (in Reid's opinion) down the street in a sort of swerving zig zag. He looked around for some kind of cover in case it… in case… just in case… Reid told himself… but this small stretch of shops he was outside of were all closed.

'Oh…' Spencer muttered and took a few quick steps backwards, placing his foot in just the wrong place where the kerb dipped to the road. His foot slipped sideways and he was thrown into the road with a howl of distress. He heard it. He felt the spray of snow cover the back of his head. He saw the tyre of the SUV crush the bag with the book into the snow and then it was continuing onwards down and around the corner heading away from the house. For a minute… or maybe an eternity… Spencer just lay there in the snow with his heart pounding looking at the bag. He pulled it out from where it had been half buried and then got to his knees and then carefully to his feet. 'I need to get back.' His teeth chattered together but now he didn't know if it was the cold or fear causing it. For some reason suddenly Spencer didn't feel cold. He had sweat popping up on his brow right next to where snow was encrusted into his hair.

Spencer Has A Rant.

Floyd and Sam were in the kitchen when Spencer slammed back through the front door and shouted for Floyd. He stood with his back to the door and the bag in his hand. The adrenaline still pumping through him made his knees turn to jelly and his head spin. Floyd burst through the kitchen door and pushing Sam back out of the way moved forward quickly to Spencer.

'What?'

And though Floyd spoke only one word Spencer thought he heard concern in it. 'Its…' He handed the bag over. '… I was nearly run down.'

Floyd held the bag out of Sam's grabby reach and took Spencer by the hand. 'Lounge. Come tell me what happened.' He squeezed Spencer's cold hand and led him to the warmth of the lounge and the comfort of the couch. Still having not looked inside the bag he poured Spencer a good helping of whiskey and sat down next to him slipping an arm around his shoulder. 'Are you sure? I mean you didn't just step out in front of something?' Still there seemed to be concern and now there was a tightening hand on Spencer's shoulder. Reid explained as best he could about the incident with the red SUV. 'It was inches from my head Floyd.'

'Coincidence?' Floyd asked. 'Not that I'm saying that you're exaggerating, but are you sure that you didn't panic? This is what's meant by…'

'Self fulfilling prophecy. I know. I'm aware of that, but…' He tapped the book. 'I was given that in the book store. She took it off the shelf and told me it was a good read. The wheel of the vehicle went over it. How it didn't catch my fingers I don't know.'

'Bullshit.' Sam spat. 'You're just trying to get a sympathy vote. You're a nasty bitter bitch.'

Floyd though now pulled the book out of the bag and looked at the title on the cover. Like Spencer had he turned it over in his hands to read the blurb on the back… it had nothing there though, just a painting of a white poppy. The front had the words in white print and another poppy painting, this one in red. There seemed to be no author's name. 'Interesting. And you were given this in the book store?' He passed the book over for Sam to look at. 'I think it might be a good time for me to go down into the cellar and see what's down there. Spencer, Sam… please stay up here. Stay in this room. Don't answer the door. Don't…' He looked around for a telephone but couldn't see one. '…answer the phone; if there is one. I'll be quick. I just want to see and then I'll come back. Don't follow me. I want you two to stay together.' He glanced from Sam to Spencer. 'I'll be quick.' He repeated. 'Have a look through the book. You both read faster than me…' He moved his arm from Spencer's shoulder but moved in close and gave Reid a kiss on the cheek. 'Please don't look so upset Babes. It's exciting!'

Spencer didn't feel all that excited. He felt sick and he didn't want Floyd going down into the cellar alone. 'We can all go look?' He suggested. But Floyd stood and shook his head.

'I wont be long. I'll touch nothing and do nothing but look and get a feel for it and I'll be right back. I've lived in Hades Spencer, it cant be worse than that. It's a cellar not a gateway to hell.' He walked to the door. 'I hope.' And he was out of the door closing it quietly behind him.

Sam got up and sat where Floyd had been and placed the book on Spencer's knee. 'Are you scared?' He asked in a whisper. 'I'm fucking puking with fear. And if cars are going to try to run you down in the street and you're just you, then I'm not going to risk going out there for any fucking thing! Shit. You know what though? I think that we are going to be dead by the Spring.'

'That's not the attitude to take Sam and yes I was scared. I'll admit I was. How is he going to get down into the cellar if the door is locked?' A crunching sound of breaking wood answered him though. 'Sam… get your hand off me.' A pale hand was slipping over the book and across Spencer's thigh.

Sam snatched his hand back again. 'I'm not going to let it get me. I decided that. I'm not going to let it. I'd rather kill myself than let it win.'

'And you think that's _not_ giving into it?' Spencer picked up the book and opened it to the beginning chapter.

'It's all about making choices Spencer. If I'm going to die I will choose my own way of going. Have you looked at the view out back yet? When Floyd gets back go look. It's rocky craggy cliffs and then the sea. I can hurl myself off there and…'

'…Break your back and end up in a wheel chair.' Spencer frowned at the words in the book. 'You read this as it seems to be all about you. Have you ever attended university or college?' He handed the book back to Sam. 'I need another drink.'

'Then I'll slit my wrists or cut my own throat. I'm not going to let it get me Spencer. I wont.' He didn't answer Spencer's question though.

Reid turned to Sam putting on the angriest face he could muster. 'Don't you understand that is exactly what a self fulfilling prophecy is? The point is to stay alive not to give in and hand yourself over to some imaginary curse. And yes I was panicking out there sliding in the snow seeing a vehicle come slewing towards me… I panicked and that caused me to slip and fall. Had I stayed where I was it would have come nowhere near me.'

'Doesn't explain the book Spencer.' Sam waggled it at him. 'There's no publisher's name or anything. I'd dearly like to go and talk to whoever gave this book to you. Except… Well I don't want to go outside.'

Spencer turned to the drinks cabinet and poured out a measure. 'I'd suggest calling the shop… if there was a telephone. Want a drink?'

Sam chucked the book to the side. 'Yes I'll have a drink. Do you think Floyd meant us to be here? I mean… did he know? Is that why we're here?'

A drink was placed in Sam's hand. 'I don't know Sam. I feel maybe he was pulled here. When I was out… I could feel the house calling me back again. And before you say that's stupid…'

'You felt it calling you back. It wont even let me out of the damned door. I cant. I tried going out the back Spence. It wouldn't let me. I mean I opened the door and all, but I couldn't bring myself to step out there. Not like a barrier – it didn't feel like that, but more like I was tethered. And now I'm glad I didn't. So now I don't know if something was holding me back to stop me killing myself on the cliffs by accident or if the house has me trapped for some other diabolic reason. I feel like a speck of dust caught in orbit around something big and dark, a black hole slowly pulling me in towards it… a decaying orbit. And I'm going to crash and fall head first into whatever it is cos it feels like it's draining me. Where the hell is Floyd? Shall we go look?'

Reid gave Sam a deep calculating look. For once he was talking some sort of twisted sense. Spencer understood the feeling he was talking about.

'I also think that's why I was tied up in the van. I don't think Floyd really even remembers doing that. He's not mentioned it. I really think he knew that if I'd been free I would have run off long before we arrived here. This place is suffocating and deep. Look last night…' Sam sat down again on the couch. '…I know I reacted badly but there was no way I was going to stay in that tiny room alone. I just couldn't do it and I know something was in that room. I could almost see it slithering across the floor. I could… taste it Spencer. It would have had me if I'd been too close to the edge and I know I over reacted but fucking hell I was scared.' Sam looked over at the lounge door. 'Where the hell is he? He said he'd be right back.'

Spencer needed Floyd back here too. He wanted to talk about the book. He needed to know what the hell was in the cellar… what was taking him so long? Pacing the floor didn't seem to make time to any quicker and listening to Sam talk without whining had kind of put Spencer off guard. He turned to look at Sam again and repeated a question he'd asked previously. 'Have you ever attended university or college?'

Sam frowned. 'Of course. I'm not stupid.'

'And what did you study?'

'Quantum Mechanics, maths, other stuff. It's not important. I never made it through a whole year, much more get to graduate. Something always fucks up and the tutors are always idiots. They don't like me correcting them. Then they don't like my attitude, then they don't like my sexuality or the way I dress… like any of that matters. You know we are very alike in ways…' Sam paused. '… why look at me like that? I don't mean in the subjects we excel at but the fact that we are far more intelligent than most people – including Floyd – and we both read fast. You don't do too well with interpersonal skills which I've never had a problem with I don't think, but I seem to have a problem with my…' He shrugged. '…emotions. I think I have a personality disorder, not that I'm excusing anything cos I'm not, but I'm just saying that's what most people seem to put it down to when I go on a rant or start hacking at my skin, or behave maybe not like the boring old shit you always do. So we both have wondrous brains full of fantastic stuff, but that's then balanced by the shit side of our personalities and I really feel that if I can put up with you, then you should make more of an effort to put up with me.'

At that point they both heard Floyd's footsteps hammering up the cellar stairs. They stood facing the lounge door, both holding their breaths. There was a creaking smacking sound of Floyd forcing the cellar door closed again and then he was walking in through the lounge door.

'Well… I'm back. You two behave yourselves?' In unison they both asked what he'd found down there. 'Nothing. There's nothing down there. Totally and completely nothing. An empty room. A light on the ceiling around central and apart from the blood up the walls and the demonic writing all over the areas where there's no blood there's nothing. I strongly suggest that you don't go down there. Sam you especially.'

'Why not me?'

'Because I know what you're like and I don't want you standing there reading all that shit and making things worse. There's also the remains of holy wafers and a couple of candles. Looks like someone tried to exorcise it. Fairly recently too judging by the lack of dust on those few things. There's a crucifix attached to the inside of the door too.'

'The local priest recently died.' Spencer muttered. 'The woman in the book store said… she told me that he knew of the history of the house… the old priest…'

Floyd just looked at the pair of them and then walked to get a drink. 'Some idiot has tried to do something very stupid and I promise it wasn't me this time. We need to be careful. What was that book about?

Sam picked up the book. 'It's about me actually. I thought it was going to be about you, but no. It's about me. Just different scraps of stuff. A couple of pages saying about uni… one about... Well you can read it yourself. It's not that interesting cos you were there for most of it. But it's centred around me. I wonder if that shop has a book like this for each of us. Not that I'm going to go look, but Spencer could. Shall I stick it in the fire?'

Floyd virtually pounced on the book. 'No no… bad idea. Very bad idea. It's meant to be here. Put it on a shelf. Let me think what to do.'

'I could go and heat up that food that was donated to us.' Spencer started to walk towards the door. 'Unless you don't think it's safe to eat?' He turned back with his hand on the door handle. Sam was picking at a scab on his wrist and Floyd looked to have gone into _thinking_ mode. He didn't really want to go out there alone which was making him angry with himself. Hadn't he explained to Sam that it was panic which had led him to slipping? If he knew that then why was he allowing panic to fill him again? He knew that beyond this door was the hallway with the stairs and that under those stairs was a doorway leading to something Spencer didn't think he wanted to see, but was sure that eventually would. 'Sam.' He eventually said. 'Why don't you come with me? Floyd?' When neither of them moved Spencer went and sat down again. He'd decided that he'd not claim that he was afraid but that he wasn't sure if it was too early to eat.

'Here's the thing.' Floyd mumbled. 'Some idiot called upon a creature of the dark.' Floyd pushed hair off his face. 'I don't know which was called. Now that's the first problem. The priest would have known and yes he's dead apparently but maybe his replacement has some information which might be useful. We could try him first. Until we have some kind of idea of what was brought forward we wont know which way to step. Some creatures come through and then cause havoc then wander off or just go away or back home again. Others are more of a spiritual thing, they have to inhabit another being. They're parasites. Now there is yet another which is more of an energy but it cannot physically manifest. Yet another type which can be called will bleed into the very walls of the building and live there. I think we have that here, but I cant be sure. There is also maybe the type of parasite which will do both… it can split but not permanently. Maybe it's that sort. What say you Sam?'

'I say that if it's a parasite I don't want it living in me.'

'I'd say the same.' Spencer answered.

'And not me either. What I'm concerned about is that sometimes they're tricksters. They'll hijack someone unknowingly. It cant stay there, but if it can be encouraged enough it can…' Floyd stopped and rubbed at his eyes. 'Spencer… I think Sam knows what I'm meaning here, but if for example that creature snuck inside of me when I was in the cellar… and if later tonight we had…'

'It can transfer when you fuck.' Sam helped Floyd out. 'So you have to abstain. We all have to abstain at least until we know what the name of the creature was. Floyd didn't it say on the walls?'

'Likely. But I didn't want to get into reading it for obvious reasons. I think that the priest must have known what it said. Maybe there're copies of it. We can ask. We can read copies. We cannot under any circumstance read what's on the walls.'

'Sounds good. Only one problem as far as I can see is that I'm not leaving this fucking house even if you beat me to a pulp first. Call the priest here. I think that's our only option. I'm not leaving the house, or at least I _cant_ leave the house and Spencer doesn't want to go out there again and you'll not leave us here alone and I don't really want you to go there alone either.'

Floyd was nodding. 'Lack of telephone sort of kills that idea unless Spence has his cell phone. Do you babes? In your room? In a pocket or bag or something?'

Spencer nodded. 'I'll go and get it, but I have a strange feeling about this priest now.'

'Not as fucking strange a feeling as I'm getting.' Sam muttered. 'So if his name is Daniel Green, he'll be of no help. At least not for what we want.'


	18. Chapter 18

18

**A/N: Sorry for the delay.**

Reid.

I can feel it. It's not just this terrible tension but it's something insidious and rotting around the edges. I would dearly love to go and get my cell phone. There's a number of calls I'd like to make. Air rescue being one of them. Hotch being another but I cant leave the lounge. I don't know if it's an excuse not to go upstairs alone, though it's still daylight – that doesn't prevent shadows from sliding in around from the edges. I shudder and move towards the fire. I tell Floyd that the cell phone is in the side pocket of my bag and he is welcome to go and get it. I'm not sure why I feel safe when Sam's around. I'm not sure why I felt a sudden fear when Floyd came back in again. Was it a look on his face, a glint in his eye? If I could get rid of him for just a short while then I could ask Sam. Floyd leaves the room without a word. He's not said that he's going to get the phone or that he's going to get food. He's said nothing… I've turned to look at Sam who's sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and a look on his face which is a cross between abject terror and a complete brain melt down. I want to ask him what's going on. I feel as though Sam and Floyd both have suddenly realised some sort of danger and are keeping me out of the loop. 'Is it this spirit thing?' Though I hold no belief really in it it's still making my skin crawl. Sam doesn't answer though. His face is wet and his nose is bubbling snot and he's not bothering to wipe at it. I've not heard him coughing today but now I can hear a slight wheeze as he breathes through his mouth.

'Do you love me?' He suddenly says. 'Do you?'

I don't know what to say. I don't love him. I don't hate him. I don't know what I feel for him. I'd feel pity for _anyone_ as terrified as Sam seems to be now. 'We've talked about this.' I tell him.

'But you don't understand Spencer. I don't want to die unloved.' He at last wipes at his nose.

'Floyd has gone to get the cell phone and will be right back. You're not going to die.'

'Then you'll protect me? From that _thing?'_

I honestly don't know what he's talking about. I do though kneel down next to him. He's spooked by the book which I would so love to put down to coincidence, but I'm really struggling with that. 'Sam, you have to tell me what's going on. What do you know?'

'I know that Floyd went down into the cellar but not just Floyd came back out again. Couldn't you see it in his eyes? Couldn't you see that slick wave of something move across his vision just as he left the room to get the phone? Spencer…' Sam put his hand tightly on my arm. 'He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me for letting you fuck me. I know he is. I've known it all along. He's just been waiting and now I have a horrible feeling that somewhere in the back of Floyd's head that thing has been there lurking all along.' Sam seemed to suddenly go limp as though all his strength had been sucked out of him. 'OOH… oh fuck. Spencer… everything is backwards. We have to get out of here.' He stood very wobbly on his feet and opened the lock on the window. 'This way. We have to go. Now Spencer! Out now before he comes back again and lets it free.' Sam slid over the window sill and disappeared. I leaned over and looked at what he was doing. 'Spencer he put a hand out to grab me as he got to his feet.'

But I couldn't. I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave the house. 'Sam! Get out of here.' And though I'm whispering my voice still feels much too loud. 'Go to the priest. Don't ask the locals! Avoid them!' Sam is up on his feet and he's running. He's dexterous. He can manage snow far better than I can. I close the window and watch as he runs through a new flurry of Snow and then I move quickly out of the room and into the kitchen carefully avoiding looking at the cellar door - where I begin to make some sandwiches. Cheese for Sam, ham for Floyd, chicken for myself. And yes I know Sam's running for what he obviously feels is his life, but I don't want Floyd to think I know that. I'm just placing the sandwiches on the separate plates when Floyd walks in and has a quick look around.

'Where is he?' He asks me. He has my cell phone in his clenched fist.

'In the lounge.' I pick up a plate and offer it to Floyd. He walks slowly towards me and I'm trying to see his eyes. Sam said something about his eyes, but he's looking down at the plate. 'Ham.' I say. I don't want to say too much, I can feel my throat closing up on me and now the plate is beginning to shake along with my hand. He knows. I know he does. I can tell by his posture. I can tell by the way he's breathing. 'Or you can have cheese.' I feel so stupid. What am I doing offering him a sandwich?

'He's not in the lounge. Where is he?'

I don't know what to say so I go to put the plate on the counter just as Floyd's hand comes up and smacks it from my hand.

'Don't you fuck with me! Where's Sam?' The plate smashes and the sandwich falls apart.

I bend down and begin to pick up the pieces but now his hand is resting on the back of my neck. Oh I know that's what I wanted so much when I saw him massaging Sam but now I just need him to remove it. I stop what I'm doing and let the bits drop back to the floor again. 'I don't know.' I say, which is partially correct. I said to go to the priest but if that's where he went or not I really don't know.

Fingers begin to twist in my hair. It's shorter than he'd like it. Is this why he always encouraged me to keep it longer? Was it so he could drag me around by it easier? Not that it matters. He can still drag my head up. I bite down on my bottom lip. I'm not going to show him that it's hurting. The fingers twist and drag and pull at my hair and I stay crouched on the floor. 'I got you this.' The cell phone falls to the floor next to the broken plate. I don't move. I don't reach out for it and it's good that I didn't. His foot comes down on it. His boot heel crushes it. 'Where is Sam?' He asks again. 'Babes I can go and find him, but I'd have to leave you here, so for your own good and for your own comfort it'd be best you tell me. What did he say to you? Where is he? Where have you sent him?'

'If I knew I'd not tell you.' I try to keep my voice firm. There is only a slight waver there and I manage to talk and not stutter my words. 'Let go of me.' I place a hand over his and try to get him to let go of my hair.

'Don't you fucking well tell me what to do you nasty little bitch!'

I'm not completely sure what happened. I think he somehow swung me by my hair and I skidded on my side across the kitchen floor, smacking my head on the wall by the door. 'Floyd no!' I howl out as he comes skidding down onto the floor next to me.

'And why not? Why the fuck not? You deceitful fucker!'

I defend against his fists. I'm not the weak kid he used to have fun beating up on and I'm certainly not Sam. However I'm not Floyd either. I do manage to block the first couple of strikes with my arm. I try to wriggle so he cant sit astride me and I cant move fast enough. A fist catches the side of my face and I feel my teeth rip into the soft skin inside my mouth. I then feel my own fist make contact with his face. I feel my hand wrap around his throat and I'm pushing back. Another fist lands on me, but it only catches a glancing blow, my own fist catches him on the mouth. I feel his teeth cut into my knuckles. I have probably done more damage to myself than I have him and he's howling abuse and spitting at me.

'You little mother fucker! You whore's slut dog!' The rest of it is just a garbled mash up of words I don't understand. It's definitely not Latin though! At least not any form of Latin I learnt. He's given up punching me and now I see his face coming down hard towards mine. It gives me a chance to do what he'd been doing to me and I grab his hair.

'Floyd stop it!' I'm screaming at him. His forehead makes contact with my eye and though I'm not pulling at his hair now I've not let go either, but he's moved so that his knee is resting hard between my legs.

'And give me one good reason why I shouldn't just rip you apart here? Tell me! Come on Dr FB- fucking – I… tell me why I shouldn't just finish this now? Why don't you talk to me motherfucker?'

My hand is no longer around his throat. My hand is slipping from his hair and I'm still trying to get a good look at his eyes and he wont let me. He wont let me see. 'Because Floyd you don't want to do this…'

'Feels like I do. Where is Sam?'

I take a deep breath. 'I'll tell you if you get off me.' Now I've got a hand on his shoulder. I'm not pushing him away, but it's still firmly there. I've got a mouth full of blood and my eye's closing up already. 'Floyd?'

And as suddenly as it started it's over. He moves away and pulls up on a counter and stands. 'Well it better be good Babes or I'm going to kill you much slower than I'd already had planned. No one fucking hits me ever. You understand that? No one fucking well _ever_ raises a hand to me.' He's rubbing at the places I caught him. His lip is cut, he's got a mark under his eye.

'He said… Sam was talking about the spirit thing. Then he went into a sudden panic and said it's all in reverse. He climbed out of the window, but I don't know where he went.'

Floyd's breaths were coming hard and fast and I was sure that I saw something which looked almost like oil drift over his eyes. Was that what Sam had seen and realised? But what had he realised? And how did he recognise it?

'Here's the thing.' Floyd's leaning back on the counter on his elbows. It's almost as though what just happened – well didn't. It's as though a switch in his head just turned off, or maybe blew a fuse. 'Sam's gone running for help.' I blink but don't say anything as I slowly get up from the floor using a stool for help. 'And I cant really leave you here untended.' He tells me.

'Untended?'

He gives a dismissive gesture. 'But will you have the balls to leave the house? After last time? What do you think Spence? I have a good feeling that you'll cower in the corner and piss yourself every time you hear something rattle in the cellar, but I don't think you have it in you to leave and go out there…' He thumbed over his shoulder towards the village. 'Now I should go running after him.' Floyd pushes up from the counter and starts to walk away towards the front door. 'So where'd he go Spence? Where did the Doc send my Sam? To the book store?' He pulls open the curtain covering the small window at the side of the door. 'I don't think so. I think that spooked you too much.' He turned to face me again. 'To the church? What a little fool he is.'

'I don't know.' I remind him.

There's a deep frown on his face and his fingers are rubbing at his temples. I can see that there's sweat pouring down his face and his breaths are short and shallow. 'Spence?' And then that puzzled look has gone again and he's turned and is walking out into the snow. He doesn't close the door and I'm still leaning on the stool in the kitchen. I can only see him for a very short while but he's walking quickly and then is out of my line of sight and has gone. I pull myself up and walk on legs made of jelly which somehow still don't want to bend and I stand at the open door and I try to force myself to go and follow.

'I cant.' I moan to myself and quickly slam the door. The same thing which had tethered Sam to the house had now got its noose around my neck… but Sam _had _gotten out. And maybe if I wasn't so weak then I would be able to get out too. I feel that the only reason I cold leave earlier was that something allowed me to so I could find that book. Of course that only makes any sense at all if there is no such thing as coincidence and there are such things as demons and spirits. Floyd though needs no demon or spirit to possess him to be a (excuse my language) bastard. I walk to the lounge and pick up the book. It seemed to be snatches of an imaginary life Sam had… But if I was permitted or almost _forced_ to go and get this then it must have been for a good reason. I try to block… as Emily would have done… compartmentalise – and I read the book, which is almost a diary.

The Priest's House.

It was like something had hooked Sam's brain and was winding him in – and now winding him in too slowly either. The snow was deep but the air wasn't as cold as it might have been and the ground was mostly soft. He worried at first that Floyd would just follow his tracks and then realised that Floyd would be able to follow him anyway. For maybe a full minute he stood and tried to pull the ring off his finger but the more he pulled and twisted it the tighter it seemed to get until it was actually digging in and beginning to hurt. With a small whimper he looked up the hill towards the ancient church. 'Why are they always on the top of a hill?' He muttered to himself and with a quick glance behind him self started to run again. He felt horribly sick and the more he ran the worse he was feeling. He had a stitch in his side and puke was crawling up from his stomach and sliding over the back of his tongue. He coughed and spat out a slimy covered lump of something, kicked snow over the greenish coloured thing and then continued his journey at a walk. His knees felt wobbly and his head was hurting. Three more times he stopped to cough up something nasty from inside of him. He wanted to think that it was because he'd had a chest infection or some such thing, but he didn't think so. He was sure that if he took time and looked close enough that there'd be things crawling around in that slimy mess.

Standing in front of the church (but not actually within the grounds) Sam could see that the place was locked up. He let out a cry of dismay as this was _not_ how it was meant to happen. Father Green was meant to be there waiting for him. Father Green who would maybe not be the most holy of men ever but Sam felt almost safe with him… in him… around him. He ran frustrated fingers through his hair. Where was the priest's house? It didn't seem to be here. There was just the church with a small wooden fence around it and that was all. 'Now what?' He turned to see if Floyd was running up the hill towards him and seeing that he wasn't in sight yet made Sam panic even more. He should have been there by now. He should have caught up with him by now… There was someone walking up the hill from the village though and so Sam took a deep breath and walked towards that person. A woman with a walking stick and a scarf on her head. 'Excuse me.' He said as he got closer. 'I'm looking for the priest.'

She gave the young man a curious look. He wasn't really dressed for the snow. 'The redbrick at the bottom of the hill. Number two.' She said. 'He's new.'

Sam nodded thanks and his heart skipped slightly with rising hope that it was going to be who he really expected. There was this feeling inside of his mind by a miracle of the gods Danny Green would be here and he would save Sam from the monster living inside Floyd's head. There were two redbrick houses at the bottom of the hill and one of them had a big red _4_ on the door and the other had a _2_. He pushed open the gate and ran to the door and started to hammer. He rang the bell. He hammered on the door again. He kicked it a few times and finally the door opened and Sam steamed into the hallway, let out a loud cry of horror and pain, bent over and threw up on the rug.

'Young man?' The middle aged man by the door said. 'What's going on?'

'Where's Father Green?' Sam wailed at the man who was _not_ who he was meant to be.

The priest shook his head. 'I'm sorry young man I don't know who you mean.'

More puking and Sam's head began pounding double time, his vision was blurring and a nose bleed happily started to drip. 'Oh dear fuck…' Sam turned pushed the priest out of the way, let out another howl of pain and leapt into the snow onto his knees. 'You have to help me!' Sam stayed on his hands and knees. 'Holy water and wafers and you know the stuff? Hurry! We have to get back there!'

The priest was standing in the doorway still with an eye watering stench of vomit coming from behind him. 'Where?' He took a careful step out into the snow. 'Tell me what's wrong.' He reached out for Sam who squawked and slid away. He didn't want this man touching him. It actually hurt.

'To the house. We brought it back with us! I thought, I really thought that the thing was down in the house, but it's like…' Sam looked up at the priest… 'Everyone is going to die! We have to… but I don't know what!'

As far as the priest could tell he had a very drunk or drugged young man in his front garden. 'I will call for help.' He took a quick step back. This young man had an odd unpleasant aura about him which he didn't think had anything to do with drink.

'Who the hell are you?' Sam screamed at him as he wiped blood from under his nose. 'Father… You realise that the only way to destroy it is to call it out. We have to call it. What's its name? Do you have the notes from the priest who was here before you?'

'I don't know…' He took another step back. 'Are you talking about the trouble at the beach house? Are you getting involved in things which…' He stepped back into the house. 'I cant help you.'

To Sam's complete horror – at least at that moment he thought it was his complete horror, but he soon realised that his horror was far from complete – the priest stepped back into the house and closed the door. He let out a soft moan and ran back to the door and started hammering on it again. 'You have to help me! You have to help!' The calls for help turned into a whimper and then just one hard thud when a hand rested on the back of Sam's head and a voice said into his ear…

'… You should have jumped off the cliff when you had the chance.' Then his face made hard contact with the priest's nice white door and he left a blood smear over it and over the snow as Floyd dragged the limp form back through the snow to the house.

Reid sat with his back to the wall and the book next to him on the floor. He'd read it, but he was having trouble understanding what it was trying to tell him. He had though, he thought, prepared. A search of the few belongings Floyd had brought with him found him a collection of his hand rolled smokes. He'd found a disposable cigarette lighter in the kitchen and further searching meant that he'd managed to hide a hammer behind the cushions on the couch. He also had stuffed into his pockets four plastic binders which had been recovered from Floyds bag. He'd had to move fast the get his collection of things ready and now all he could do was wait for Floyd to come back. Hopefully Sam would get back first though with the help of the local priest who must know the history of the house and know what to do. That was his hope. Now all he could do was sit and wait. He knew what he had to do. All he had to do now was actually get the chance to do it if Floyd came back. He could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere and there was a drip, drip, dripping noise coming from the kitchen. Reid didn't know how long he sat there picking at the soft skin of his inner arms. He didn't have his watch on and that clock wasn't in this room and he wasn't going to get up and look for a clock either. He didn't think his legs would let him stand up just yet anyway. He rubbed at the sore places where Floyd had hit him and picked more at his arms.

The front door opened with a sudden _crash_ which forced a small yelp out of Spencer. He heard footsteps, a dragging sound, the door slamming shut and then there was Floyd standing in the doorway covered in snow. 'I've got lunch.' He smirked and dragged Sam in behind him by one arm. He dropped him onto the floor just inside the door.

'Lunch?' Spencer's voice sounded much too small.

'I said that Sam would be the first. I said that he'd be eaten and his bones spat out… I said that didn't I? I'm sure I did. Come to the kitchen and help me prepare. He's not got much meat on him, but…'

Spencer pushed up keeping his back pressed against the wall. 'Sam?' He wanted to say more but his tongue seemed to want to glue it self to the roof of his mouth.

'Who else? Hurry up now Babes. It's much quicker if two of us work together. You do want to work with me don't you? You'd not betray me again would you?' Floyd crouched down and picked up one of Sam's feet.

'You killed Sam?' Reid tried to take a step forward.

Floyd shook his head. 'No, Sam killed himself when he snuck out of the window and tried to get help. Suicide by total stupidity I would think it's called. Now come on, I know it's cold out, but I don't want the food to spoil. It's one thing living off road kill, but things like this Sam here…' Floyd gave Sam a kick. '…well they rot quickly and I need to take his head.'

Reid took a side step towards the couch. 'It's, it… it's very cold out.' Spencer commented. 'I mean… you must be cold.' Floyd gave Reid a curious look wondering where this was going. 'And you've obviously been…' He looked at Sam trying to see if he was breathing. '…working hard. Come and sit down and relax.' Reid patted the couch. 'I'll massage your neck. Get rid of some of the stress. I can see… I can see… that you're stressed.' Reid moved to behind the couch and placed his hands firmly on the back. 'Please. You look like you have one of your headaches. Let me help you.'

Floyd grinned. 'I just said that the food will spoil.' But he walked slowly to the couch.

'It can wait. You use spices and herbs to disguise things like slightly spoiled food. It will be fine. What's the hurry? It's not like he's going anywhere is it?'

There was a slow nod from Floyd. 'I suppose and my head's killing me.'

Spencer smiled though he thought it might have looked more like a grimace and it hurt to do. 'You should keep your head covered in weather like this. That wind from the sea…' He watched Floyd flop down onto the couch. 'Relax and let me massage your neck. Lean forwards slightly.' Spencer placed a hand on the back of Floyd's head and pushed him forward a bit. 'How about your back?' There was a low contented groan from Floyd as Spencer ran fingers over the back of Floyd's neck and down his back. 'Close your eyes and relax. It's only me.' Another mumble from Floyd and Reid slipped the hammer from behind the cushions. Still rubbing at Floyd's neck with one hand he readied himself to smack Floyd on the back of the head.


	19. Chapter 19

19

**A/N: And again I'm sorry for the delay. XOX. Thank you, merry Christmas and happy holidays to all my readers and lovely reviewers.**

The Thing Inside Floyd Has A Think.

Does he think I am a simpleton? Dr Spencer Reid; super genius and absolute fool. Of course I've known this fact all along which is why the man (and I use that term in a very loose manner) is so easy to manipulate. His inability to think the most basic thoughts sometimes makes Spencer a very easy target. I'll not deny that he's nice to bed. He smells sweet and he tastes wondrous, but I hope that little matter doesn't cause him to think that I'll not kill him. Sam also was a lovely fuck. Sam also had a fantastic smell and taste and as a well versed rent boy Sam knew all the little tricks; and it didn't stop me from smashing his face and snapping that pretty little neck did it? No. So I hope that Spencer doesn't think he can wheedle his way out of this little predicament. It's just not going to happen. I can hear his gentle false words. I can hear that he's asking me to relax. Relax? No… Spencer my sweet little thing, I'm not going to relax all the time you have a fucking hammer ready to cave my head in with. Honestly does he think I don't know what he's about to do? Or attempt to do anyway.

My hands are rough and calloused after so many life times working and killing with them. Spencer's hands are soft. They are the sort of hands you want running over you. The sort of hands which bring great pleasure most of the time. They are also the hands of a deceiver and turncoat. My lover is going to try to knock me out. I don't think he's going to try to kill me. I really don't think he has the balls to do that. I don't think he has the courage inside of him to hit me hard enough. Should I risk it anyway? No… I don't think I should. Not that I doubt my thoughts on this deadly matter but because either way I'm going to end up with one hell of a headache and today I have no time to deal with that. I need this over with.

I feel his hands on the back of my neck and over my back. I feel one of those hands slide down behind the cushion where he has hidden the hammer and I can hear how his breathing has changed, how his voice has become softer yet unsteady. I can smell the fear rushing out of the pores of his skin as though it thinks if it gets out then Spencer will be in control. A paradox. Spencer in Control. It will never happen. Not only will I not allow it to happen but Spencer doesn't really want it to. Spencer knows that I'll stop him and I know that Spencer would love to help me fuck the corpse I dragged in with me and if he doesn't? Well then he can sit quietly and watch _me_ have that pretty little cunt-boy's arse.

Reid takes a deep breath. He holds it trying to steady his hands. I can feel this. I can hear it and as I feel that sudden displacement of air I just move slightly and grab his wrist. I'm not sure what I enjoy most at the moment; the look of shock on his face or the scream which bounces out over those slightly parted lips.

I ask him as gently as I can… 'And what in the name of fuck were you going to do with that?' And he just lets out another of those odd scared noises. 'Surely you weren't going to try to incapacitate me were you?' I ask and he's just looking blank now. It seems that all sensible thought has been stripped from him – if he had a sensible thought there to start with of course and I'm beginning to doubt that. 'First you lie to me, then you smack me in the mouth and now you're attempting to cave my skull in with a hammer. What's come over you Babes? What did I do to deserve such treatment from such a slut?' He releases the hammer though. I'm not sure if he wanted to or if my hand is beginning to crush his wrist and makes his fingers go numb. 'Aren't you going to answer me my sweetness?'

'Sam.'

That's all he says as the hammer drops back onto the couch. I glance at the thing leaking on the floor and then let go of Spencer's wrist and stand. 'Sam? What about Sam?' There really seems to be nothing though. Spencer doesn't follow this up with another thought and so I have to assume that his thoughts are all for that thing on the floor there and not actually for me. An unfaithful slut it would seem. I walk to Sam and kick him again, this time in the ribs and though I know he cant and never will again I half expect him to start whimpering and moaning and wriggling. He doesn't though. I kick him so that he flops over onto his back and Spencer lets out another odd noise of distress (?).

'Come and look.' I tell him as I run a finger over the thing's lips.

I can hear unsteady footfalls and a sound like a sob of a breath. 'Why?' He asks me.

I wiggle Sam's floppy head around a bit and look down into half open eyes which are staring out at nothing. I gave him a nose bleed when I smacked him on that door and there's blood around that pretty whore's mouth and smudged over the side of his face. I think though that the snow washed most of it away. 'He was going to try to get rid of me Spencer and I cant have that.' I touch him and smooth down Sam's hair and knowing that it's going to repulse Spencer I kiss the corpse on the lips. Not just a quick goodbye peck, but a deep tongue delving lip crushing kiss.

'Stop it!'

More words from my darling Spencer make me stop and look up at him. 'You want to join in? Want a bit before he gets too cold? Are you possibly jealous of a dead…'

'Stop it!' He's looking at my hands which seem to have slipped down the front of Sam's trousers. 'Just leave him alone!' And for a second there I thought that Spencer was actually going to do something and not just stand there like the fucking useless son of a bitch he is. I do move my hands though and I stand slowly and I hold my hands out in front of him palms up.

'You want some?' I ask him and he's backed away a step. 'You let him go alone Spencer. If you'd gone with him maybe I'd not have been so angry, but you let him go alone. You didn't care enough for him then and so why are you peeved that I dare touch him now? It's not as though he's going to mind is it? He's not going to know what I'm going to do to him. He's dead. You want to follow in his stupid footsteps? Are you going to try to stop me? You can try.' I kneel back down and place my knees either side of Sam's head and drag him so his head is resting on my lap. 'Come on then Spencer. You told me to stop. Are you actually going to do something to make me?'

'You didn't have to kill him.' Spencer's voice is not much more than a whisper.

'No. You're correct. I didn't have to kill him. But I wanted to. I don't need him if I've got you. I don't need two of you trying to drag me down.'

'I wouldn't…'

I'm running fingers over the broken face and I am beginning to feel a slight annoyance that he died so easily. He can normally take a lot more damage than I did to him. He's meant to be tougher than this. 'You read the book.' I tell him, but I don't look up at him. I'm looking down at Sam. 'Which is why you had that wild notion that you could hit me with a hammer. What were you going to do next though?' I look up at him and see a flicker of something cross his face. Something has occurred to him but I don't know if it's that he didn't know what to do or if he's realised that I didn't know what he was going to do. I stand quickly. Sam's head clunks on the floor and Spencer lets out a groan. 'You cared for Sam?' I ask him and get no reply. 'You liked him enough to stick your dick up his warm overly friendly accommodating arse… are you saying that you just used him like everyone else did? Are you saying that you let him go for help because you didn't care? Are you telling me that you let him go to his death and now you feel nothing? Were you too cowardly to go yourself? Didn't you want Sam to be the one distracting me?'

Spencer moves a step forward this time. 'Stop putting words into my mouth!' He shouts! Yes he actually raises his voice at me. 'I thought he'd be safer away from you! I thought that he could get help and that I could distract you.'

I let out a snort of laughter which makes me sneeze. I crouch down and lazily wipe away the snot which splattered onto Sam's nose and stand up again. This is going nowhere. I'm tired of constantly talking in circles and not achieving anything. I _would_ like to relax but I don't have the time or energy to do so. A drink though. Yes a drink would be good.

'Alcohol purifies the soul.' I inform Spencer. 'Get me whiskey and when it's time you'll help me out with what else needs to be done.' I really don't believe that alcohol purifies the soul, but I think I've become a slight alcoholic over the years. A sudden thought occurs to me though. It's not _me_ who's craving alcohol. Not me as such. Not the person who ran out there and killed the cunting whore for trying to get a priest here, no… that's not the person who requires this – it's someone else and that someone else is screaming in my head and trying to tear me back out of the way. Spencer though is pouring a drink for me. He spills some. His hands are shaking wildly. Anger or adrenaline? I don't know… I take the drink with one hand and rub at my temple with a fist. 'You wont win.' I tell Spencer. 'You cant possibly win. You know that. Why are you trying to fight it?' He doesn't answer but does something which I didn't think Spencer was really in to. He lights one of Floyds… one of _my_ … me… I'm Floyd. I decided to shout that to make sure Spencer knows. 'I'M FLOYD!' It makes him jump but he's lighting the cheroot anyway.

'I know.' He tells me. 'I know.'

'Who did you expect?' I question the shaking idiot in front of me. I wave smoke out of my face. 'And stop fucking doing that whore.' It's almost as though he's doing it to annoy me. I don't want to smoke that shit. I don't want it blown in my face. I don't want it! 'What are you doing?' I lower my voice and then take a sip of my drink. 'What are you trying to do Spence?' He can deny all he wants but I know he's doing something and I know it's connected with the book. The book I didn't bother to read. The book which Spencer _did_ bother to read. The book about that motherfucking son of a whore Sam. I could take the time now and read it but I don't want Reid to know that I've maybe made an error and by not reading it when I could have done, when things were calmer before Sam run away like a fucking…

…Angel…

Not an angel. 'Stop blowing that fucking stuff in my damned face!' It's confusing me. I feel as though… I feel as though my brain is going to explode. I feel as though my heart is going to follow it. 'You cant do that!' I manage to mutter but it's not very commanding and I don't think that Spencer is going to take a whole lot of notice of me, not now that I'm on my knees watching blood pour from my nose. No not now…

Pushed Back.

Spencer stood blowing smoke over Floyd's face. He ignored Floyd's demands that he should stop and when Floyd went down to his knees and dripped blood onto the floor Spencer went down to his knees too and carried on blowing the vile smoke over Floyd's face and head. He wanted to see his eyes, but Flanders was keeping his head down for now.

'Give me that fucking smoke.' Floyd put a shaking hand out towards Spencer.

Reid shook his head. 'Not until I can see your eyes. Look at me.'

Floyd slowly raised his head, but kept his hand reaching out towards Reid. 'Now will you give me the fucking thing?' Spencer slowly nodded and handed the smoke to Floyd. 'Thanks Babes.' He said almost in a whisper. He then wiped at the blood dripping from his nose and turned to look at Sam laying on the floor. 'Fuck.'

'I need to do something.' Spencer said. 'And I need you to agree.'

It was with very careful movements that Floyd slowly crawled away from Spencer and moved towards where Sam was laying. 'If it involves hitting me over the head with a hammer I'm not likely to agree.' Floyd's voice though sounded odd and distant. 'What did you have in mind?'

'I read the book.' Spencer trailed behind Floyd cautiously. 'I know what has to be done.' He pulled the plastic binders out of his pocket. 'I didn't mean to do this.' Floyd muttered as he wound Sam's hair through his fingers.'

Didn't mean to do it? Spencer stood and shook his head. 'Maybe not. But that doesn't change the fact that you did do it.' He was trying to sound understanding. He was trying not to let Floyd know how angry he was. He wasn't finding it very easy. 'And I need you to let me help you Floyd. I know what's going on here and I know at least how to stop it from…'

'You know what's going on?' Floyd still on his knees turned to look at Spencer. He flicked at the binders in his hand and shook his head. 'You don't have the first idea about what's going on here Babes. They're not going to stop it. They wont stop me from ripping off your face if you even try to put them on me. Do you understand that at least? I hope you do. Go away and leave me to grieve.' He snatched the things from Spencer's hand and threw them across the room. 'Go before I decide that it's not worth struggling against and let it out to play again.'

Reid made a small yelping sound as the binders were ripped from his hand. 'I know that something is happening which under normal circumstances I would say was insanity and refuse to believe, but this is not normal is it Floyd? Nothing about any of this is normal. Therefore I have to let myself believe that the impossible can occasionally happen and this is one of those times.'

'Oh shut the fuck up you boring whore. I'm taking Sam upstairs. You can follow if you want but if you try to stop me you'll end up just as broken as Sam. I can fix this. I can fix it, but not if you're going to pound my brains out and truss me up like a fucking Christmas turkey.' Floyd slipped arms under Sam and started to lift the floppy body off the floor.

Hands on his shoulders pushing down caused him to carefully place Sam back down again. 'You're not taking him upstairs.' Now that was anger in Spencer's voice and now he wasn't trying to hide it. 'You're _not_ going to! You _cant_ fix him! You killed him Floyd.' The last few words were said in a low hiss which came from clenched teeth.

Floyd pushed the hands off his shoulders and stood. He turned to face Spencer who was now standing back out of fist range. 'I _can_ fix him. I can fix him the same way I've fixed you in the past! You know I can! But if you would rather I didn't fuck him better again then I'll go take him to the kitchen. Either way is good with me. Make up your mind. Let me screw my lovely little cunt-boy or let me cook him up for dinner. We cant leave him laying there in the fucking lounge floor can we? And I'm not going to let you report this little incident to the police. It's too late for an ambulance and I don't know how we can explain how this happened, so I'm open to options here Babes.'

Spencer took another step back. 'When someone dies Floyd, the two options are _not_ have sex with him or eat him! There's other options available to us.' Though for now Spencer wasn't sure what those options where. 'And _you_ did that to him, _not_ me… don't include me in this!'

'And you're an accessory.' Floyd smirked. 'Why are you backing away from me Spence? Why are you working against me when all I want is for us to have a lovely holiday away from the stress of the city? A time to rest and relax and make up for lost time… that's what this is meant to be and you're making me wish I'd not fucking bothered! Why don't you run back to your beloved Agent Aaron Hotchner? Why don't you run back and see if Morgan will slide his big black cock up your arse? I'm sure he'd oblige if you washed first. Why do you have to ruin everything? And I'll fucking include you in what I want to damned well include you in and right now I'm sodding well including you in this mess.' He thumbed over his shoulder at Sam. 'You didn't like him anyway. I cant see why it would bother you what the fuck I did with him now. He's only good for two things and I don't think you want me to do either of them. Put that fucking cheroot away. Don't you fucking light that you miserable cunt!'

Spencer stood with the cheroot in one hand and a lighter in the other. 'Why not? Why cant I smoke this?'

'You fucking know why! Don't you dare fucking light that!'

He did though. It made him cough and it made the room spin for a while but he was going to try to do what the book said and that book said that these smokes assisted in pushing back the demon inside of Floyd's head. It said that Floyd would want to smoke it and the demon wouldn't. It said that Spencer had to incapacitate Floyd and get him to smoke. It suggested tying him up, but that was not going to work if he couldn't get Floyd to get himself back in control and allow it to happen. 'Floyd… I want to talk to Floyd not you, whoever you are. I need you to let me talk to Floyd again.'

'What the fuck for? What's he got that I've not got?' Floyd returned to Sam and sliding his arms under the soggy body picked him up. 'I suppose I've got this. Come watch.' Floyd left the room and made his way to the stairs. 'Come on Babes… come watch. You might learn something.' And though the last – one of the last – things Spencer wanted to do was to watch Floyd have sex with Sam he followed anyway after reclaiming the plastic binders and making sure he had both whiskey and cheroots. Though this was likely going to make Spencer feel ill he thought that this might be the distraction he needed to get Floyd under control. When Spencer walked through the bedroom door a minute or so after Floyd, Floyd already had Sam's boots off and was pulling down his pants.

'Is that… do you really have to?' Spencer shuddered.

'He's wet.' Floyd told Spencer. 'And though I've nothing against fucking something slightly soggy, he stinks of piss and I do have something against fucking something which smells of dirty public toilets. Take a seat Spence, don't just stand there looking like you want to join in – unless you do? Want to add necrophilia to your list of crimes? Or maybe just take me from behind whilst I fuck Sam – Now wouldn't that be fun. Something to talk about at parties.'

Spencer sat quickly in a small padded chair and lit up again. He placed the whiskey bottle on the floor.

'I can fix this.' Floyd said as he ripped off Sam's shirt and threw it to the side.

'Floyd maybe can. You cant.' Spencer muttered.

A pair of dark eyes looked over at Spencer. 'Put that fucking thing out.'

'But it helps calm your nerves Floyd. It stops the nose bleeds. Surely you want to enjoy Sam?' Spencer stood up on very wobbly legs but managed to walk over to Floyd. He held out the smoke to him. 'Burn him.' Spencer said though it was making him feel sick to say it. 'On his back.' Spencer then indicated the other burn marks over Sam's back and on the back of his upper arms. 'You've done it before. You like the sound it makes when the heat burns into the flesh.' Still holding out the smoke to Floyd Spencer was amazed that by some marvellous fluke his hands weren't shaking. 'I'll do it for you if you want?' He leaned forward slightly with the cheroot tightly between his fingers.

'Give me that!' Floyd snatched it before Spencer could carry out what it had looked as though he was going to do… at least he was grateful for that. Now Spencer moved back quickly and sat down again. Floyd had the cheroot. That was the important thing.

He watched. Not because he wanted to watch what went on, but to try to catch that perfect moment when he could go over there and tie Floyd's hands to something, or maybe a foot? There had to be a way to restrain Floyd and Spencer didn't want to miss his chance. He only puked once but he didn't feel shame. Anyone witnessing what Floyd did would have puked. Reid listened to the happy satisfied noises Floyd was making and to the silence coming from Sam who he knew (from experience) was usually very noisy. It made his stomach clench further but all the time he was throwing up on the green and red rug he couldn't concentrate and he had to… 'Another smoke?' He asked as he pulled one from his pocket and started to light up. He got no reply but that didn't matter. He stood and walked quickly over to where Floyd was laying on his side doing something to Sam who was also laying on his side. He also looked around for something to smack Floyd on the back of the head with. There's a table lamp but it's the other side of the bed but Spencer didn't want to alert Floyd too much. 'Smoke.' He asked again handing it over trying not to look too closely at what was going on.

'Join us Babes.' Floyd muttered and held out a hand for the cheroot. 'Or get me a drink? I can do this. I can fix him.'

Spencer handed over the smoke and went to get the bottle of whiskey. A drunk Floyd who wasn't all he appeared to be was now worrying Spencer. Maybe he'd made a mistake thinking that drink would help? Maybe he could smack him on the back of the head with the bottle? Fixing Sam wasn't going to happen. You don't fix people by doing what he was doing to him. And now of course Spencer was sort of hoping that Floyd _couldn't_ fix him as he had encouraged Floyd to burn Sam and though that'd not hurt while Sam was _dead_ it certainly would if he suddenly _was_ cured by The Sperm of the Gods which Floyd seemed to think he was in possession of.

'It's no fucking good.' Floyd muttered and rolled onto his back. He pushed the still floppy unresponsive Sam away from himself and stared at the ceiling. 'What's the plan Spence?' He glanced over to where Spencer was sitting fiddling with the cuffs. 'You have to have a better fucking plan than that. We need to get away from this damned place. If I can get away…'

'For now keep smoking.' Reid sighed and shook his head. 'If you wont put these on…' He paused and waved them at Floyd. '… and I cant knock you out…'

'That's it? That's your plan? What about Sam?'

Spencer stood and walked with his heart pounding in his chest over to Floyd. 'Roll over and let me cuff you. Then I'll tell you what the plan is.'

Floyd smirked. 'You're fucking kidding me I assume? You'd really expect me to let you do that? What the fuck's wrong with you? You think I'm stupid? How the sodding hell is that going to help Sam?' He sat up on the bed and prodded the thing next to him. 'Tell me how putting myself under your control is going to help him!'

Spencer stood near to the bed but his body was ready to run if he thought Floyd was going to get up. 'The book said…'

'Fuck the book! You tell me Spence Babes… how can I help my Sam if you wont fucking let me?'

'You killed him!' Spencer shouted back at him. 'You went out after him and dragged him back and he's dead! You cant help him! I cant help him. He's gone and no amount of you feeling sorry for your self and no amount of guilt is going to bring him back again. The book said you need to be restrained and that you need to smoke these things. It said that you have to push back whatever it is in your head. I don't know what Sam was meaning when he said things were backwards and now I cant ask him, but that's all I can think to do now. I want – no I need you to do what Sam wanted you to do. He was going for help. Now just let me do this and accept it. Unless of course you _like_ having something in your head controlling you. Unless it really _was_ you and not something I cant quite understand… is this all a sick game?'

'It wasn't me!' Floyd jumped down off the bed and though Spencer was ready to run he just stood there and faced Floyd.

'Well who was it then? Whose hands did that to him? Who dragged him back dead? Who was it if it wasn't you? You've lost your mind Floyd.'

Floyd grabbed Spencer by the front of his shirt and spoke very slowly and carefully in a big spit filled voice. 'It fucking well wasn't me your fuck! Are you accusing me of something?'

Reid ignored the splatter of spittle over his face and nodded slowly. 'Well who else could it have been? You or…?' He didn't finish. Floyd's forehead made contact with Spencer's face and then hands pushed him back out of the way.

'That's right! Accuse me of shit! Accuse me all you fucking want! Attack me when I'm not… when I'm… Spencer?' He moved over and knelt down next to Reid who lay on the floor now knowing that he was going to follow Sam pretty soon. 'Spence… I don't feel too good.'

'Ask yourself why you tied Sam up in the back of the van.' Spencer said to Floyd as he scrabbled to his feet again.

'I didn't.' Floyd turned to look at Sam. 'Why would I have done that?'

'Then check on him. Go look. You can see where he tore the skin on his wrists and ankles. Go look if you don't believe me and then tell me who did that if it wasn't you. Tell me why you tied _my_ ankle to the seat of the van. And why did you buy this place? You said it wasn't what you expected. What did you expect Floyd?'

He walked quickly back over to Sam and looked at his hands and feet. 'I didn't fucking well do this!'

'Tell me what you were expecting if it wasn't this fine house on the cliffs.' Spencer walked slowly back to the bed trying not to look too closely at Sam. Not that he'd not seen a dead body before, but this was someone he knew; someone he new intimately.

Floyd shook his head. 'Small single storey place on the beach. Made of brick. It was perfect Spence. Fucking perfect. What the fuck are we doing here? I didn't buy this place. I was going to take us down to Florida for the holidays and maybe stay there a while. Where the hell are we anyway?'

'In some small village just south of Portland. Now if you didn't drive us here who did? Here have a smoke.'

'I think the answer is in the cellar and though I don't want to go down there and though I don't think it's the best idea I've ever had it's the only thing I can think of doing. You went down there alone and something happened. The thing… whatever it is…'

'Shut the fuck up a minute will you and let me think. You natter on like some old dried up fuck. Just keep quiet and let me think and yes… give me a smoke. The thing is this Spence, if there's something down there then I don't want you to get _infected_ as such. I need you to stay up here and I need you to fuck Sam.'

Spencer nodded. 'Well good plan except I'm not letting you go down there alone and I'm not going to do that to Sam.'

'Don't like sloppy seconds? You've never complained before. What's happened to suddenly make you so fucking fussy?'

Reid pointed at Sam. 'He's dead! And I don't want to… _fuck_ him and I never did want to.' He ignored the incredulous look on Floyd's face. 'I wanted…'

'NO!' Floyd stood from the bed again. 'Please don't tell me that you wanted to _make love_ to that little cunt? Please don't say that because I'm not in the mood for humour. I don't want to laugh till I puke. Not today. Spencer… you cant make love to Sam. It's not possible. He's a whore. He's for fucking and that's all and you might want to imagine that you had _something special_ going on with him, but I assure you it was only one way Babes. You fucked Sam. I fuck you. There's no love involved. Sam can only love himself. He's not capable of anything else. What I suggest then my sweets is that you grab him and drag him downstairs again and we'll visit the cellar together. I can maybe offer him in swap for regaining my sanity. How does that sound to you? Now I know that you're going to moan and complain and bitch at me but as you keep saying _he's dead_ so one little sacrifice isn't going to hurt too much is it?'

The room Reid was standing in was getting dark around the edges. Shadows were creeping in too fast. He was sure there were things were moving around. If it was this bad upstairs what the hell was it going to be like down in the cellar. 'But…' He pointed at Sam again. 'You said…'

'Well I cant fix him. I tried and it didn't work so I'm going to use him to get _me_ fixed and then I'm going to make mad passionate _love_ to you and show you what you've been missing. I need an axe. Need to have something I can remove his head with. Of course I can just slice it off with a little kitchen knife but it's so much more dramatic with a nice axe. Don't suppose you've got one have you? Come on… chop chop… no pun intended but we have work to do and I need to do it whilst this demon is hiding away. Get an axe…' Floyd paused. 'Spence you've gone a funny colour. Take some deep breaths or something. You look like you're gonna puke. Babes…' Floyd took a hold of one of Reid's shoulders. 'It's you or him and he's already dead… as you keep telling me… though he's not as such, but yes… so it's you or Sam. Do you want to take his place? I can arrange that. I'll still fuck you though.'

Reid felt himself nodding slowly.

'You want to take Sam's place?'

And Reid would love to have the courage to say he would. He'd love to have been able to say that… 'No.' He muttered. 'But if you really think you can do something for him…'

'Which I cant. You keep telling me that. You've made me doubt my ability to save the little cunt whore dog motherfucking bitch slag and so off with his head… drink some blood… have a light lunch on some internal bits and bobs and hey presto I'll be able to force this son of a whore out of my head and we'll all live happily ever after. Now how does that sound? Good or awesome?'


	20. Chapter 20

20

What Is In The Cellar?

Spencer was sure that life would be much easier if Floyd would stop contradicting himself. It was something he did though along with the constant lies and the continual abuse. He did it so often and with such ambivalence that Spencer didn't think Floyd even knew he was doing it. The lies used to be almost harmless. They were to make Floyd feel better about himself. He slipped into denial and nothing could drag him out of it, but this was different. He was saying he could help Sam and then saying he needed to remove his head, but that was just one thing. He would offer Spencer Sam for his own use and then get annoyed if he thought Spencer actually wanted what was offered. He was now both being told to carry Sam downstairs and in the next breath screaming abuse because Spencer had dared touch Sam.

'I have to touch him if I'm going to carry him!' Spencer shouted back.

'Then wrap him in something.' A snarled response. 'I don't want your filthy hands touching him.'

As Spencer wrapped the body carefully in a blanket he asked another question. 'Why do you need him back downstairs again?'

'It's where the fucking cellar is you moron.' Floyd was pacing but still keeping an eye on what Reid was doing with Sam. 'You know if you touch him I'll smell it. I'll smell him on you. I'll smell you on him.'

Reid wanted to tell Floyd that if he will go around sniffing people he's going to smell things he doesn't like and maybe that's a habit he needed to curtail, but he didn't bother. He needed very much to escape from this situation somehow alive and by arguing that was going to diminish his chances a lot. He couldn't place an actual statistic on it but he guessed it was around ninety nine point nine percent chance of death if he made a fuss about this. 'I wont touch him.' Spencer told Floyd and he really didn't want to. The flesh was cooling. Sam's lips had gone from the original blue hue to a horrible bloodless white. He carefully covered the face over and then slipped his hands under Sam and lifted him limply from the bed. There was a smear of blood on the sheets Sam had been laying on, but Spencer avoided looking too hard at it and then tried to push it to the back of his mind. He knew he'd never forget it, but he would do what Floyd was trying to do with whatever was inside of him and push it away. It was an unwanted and un-needed image. At least that's what he considered for now. Floyd walked in front.

'Mind your fingers don't slip and slide up where Sam would want them.' Floyd told him.

'They wont.' But Spencer moved his hands away from Sam's butt and adjusted how he was carrying him just in case Floyd thought he would. Just to stop Floyd's accusations which Spencer thought would arrive soon anyway whether he did something as vile and unthinkable as fingering Sam's corpse or not. They exited the bedroom and walked slowly down the stairs. The treads creaked and moaned with each footfall and Spencer wasn't happy that he couldn't hold the hand rail. He had a feeling that the stairs would suddenly disappear and become a slippery ramp. Floyd walked in front as they slowly descended but Reid could see that something was wrong; at least _more_ wrong than things already were. Floyd had his hands in tight fists and his head was cocked slightly to the side. He was sniffing the air like a dog picking up on a scent. Floyd was two treads from the bottom when he stopped and went into a crouch – not quite sitting on the step above. He gave Spencer a cutting gesture as though to silence him. And then the hammering started on the door. It made Spencer jump slightly but it made Floyd's head scream in agony. His fists went to the side of his head and he started making an odd almost keening sound from somewhere deep inside.

'What? Who is it?' Spencer whispered and again got the cutting gesture from Floyd. 'I cant stand here like this.' Reid hissed.

'Shut the fuck up!' Floyd hissed back at him.

'Hello?' A voice called from the other side of the door. A normal voice. Normal in as much as it didn't sound like a demon who'd been ripped right from hell. The door handle moved and the noise Floyd was making increased not in volume so much as in what Spencer thought sounded like distress.

'Get the fuck out!' Floyd shouted as someone appeared in their hallway. 'You're not invited. Get the fuck out of my house!'

Spencer stood a few treads above Floyd with Sam wrapped in a blanket. 'Can we help you?' He spoke more in a moan than a real voice.

'I'm Father Morris.' The man said. 'I'm here to help.'

Spencer wanted to ask him to go away and come back another time, but he also wanted to run to him and give him a hug and beg him never to leave. This was the priest Sam was going to Spencer suspected. The body resting in his arms suddenly felt very heavy. 'One minute.' Reid finally managed to say. He manoeuvred down the last few steps and handed Sam over to Floyd who fairly snatched Sam from his arms and held him in close. He was still though making those peculiar noises. 'Wait there.' Spencer said to Floyd and wiping his hands which suddenly felt slick with sweat he walked with great caution to the priest. 'Is there something you wanted?' Reid asked.

'A young man came to see me. He asked for help.'

Floyd made a low groaning sound.

Spencer tried a smile but it made his face hurt and so he gave up trying. 'We…' He gestured behind himself. '… could maybe do with some help…'

'Spence you fucking cunt! Don't…'

Reid carried on. '…You know the history which goes with this property?' Spencer enquired.

'I know the stories, which is why I'm here. I have information which might be of use to you, but I don't know how involved I want to get in this… this matter.'

'I need you to fucking get out of my house.' Floyd snapped.

Spencer nodded. 'Your help might be needed. If you have the information we require. If you understand the situation.' The priest was attempting to look around or through Spencer to get a better look at Floyd. Reid turned and looked at the man he'd missed so much and saw not that person but some kind of monster who'd taken his place. He pulled a cheroot from his pocket and quickly lit it with his disposable lighter and took it over to Floyd whose hands seemed to be shaking. 'He can help.' Spencer hissed to him. 'What's to lose?'

'Lives.' Floyd replied, but took the cheroot and started a manic puffing on it. 'And sanity.'

Believing that _sanity_ was lost a long time ago Spencer turned back to the priest. 'In the cellar. We were going to the cellar.'

'Ah.' Said the priest.

'Tell him to fuck the fuck off.' Said Floyd.

'This way.' Spencer ignored Floyd and took hold of the priest's arm. It felt oddly comforting. It felt almost as though my touching the priest he's formed a bubble of invulnerability around him self. It was foolish he knew, but he sucked up the comfort like a man who'd had no water for a month. Floyd slowly stood and followed at a distance muttering under his breath about ripping entrails and nibbling on warm body parts. Spencer could hear him and tried to talk to the priest to distract him from what was going on behind.

'We know that there's a curse.'

'It's not a fucking curse you slag.' Floyd's voice cut in.

'We know that there's a curse.' Spencer repeated. 'Please ignore him. He's drunk… We know that a priest was here before. There are holy wafers in the cellar. If you can help… maybe try in interpret what was going on? Do you have a name?'

'Father Morris.'

Spencer shook his head. 'I meant a name for the demon we are dealing with.'

'Spencer you're going to fucking regret this when I'm tearing your throat out with my teeth.' A hissing voice from behind them.

'I know the name of the demon.'

There was a thumping sound just as they reached the cellar door. Spencer and Morris turned to see that Floyd had dropped Sam – or the bundle to the floor. A pale arm slipped from under the blanket and a foot stuck out of the end. 'Well excuse me.' Floyd snapped at them both. 'Please don't let me stop you from going in the cellar. If you don't mind though I'll give it a miss. I've been down there. Not somewhere I want to go back to. See to this Spence Babes will you? I'm going to get a drink and maybe go for a long walk. Nice meeting you Fr Morris, very nice, but you're making me want to puke up every morsel of food that's ever passed my lips and I think it will make a mess, so good bye. Have fun. Spencer?'

'We need you to come with us Floyd.' Spencer walked forwards trying to kick Sam's hand back under the cover. 'You need to come back down into the cellar. We had plans. Things to do remember? I cant do those things alone. An axe? A knife?' Spencer bent down and covered Sam's foot. It's not that he wanted to encourage Floyd to get an axe or to remove Sam's head, but he needed to keep Floyd on track and with them. He kept his voice down hoping that Morris wouldn't understand what was being said and Morris seemed very interested in the door they were standing in front of. He was rubbing his hands together and then scratching at his neck and licking his lips. Fr Morris could feel something. He wasn't sure exactly what it _was_ he could feel, but it was tingly and maybe even exciting. He reached out and touched the door with his finger tips.

'He knows the fucking name.' Floyd hissed at Spencer. 'Do you know what'll happen if he does the wrong thing? Do you have any notion of the damage he can cause? I suspect that the other fucking priest started this mess and he's going to just make it worse. He cant help Spence. He'll end up dead and we'll end up just as dead.'

Reid reached for Floyd and pulled him close almost tripping him over Sam. 'It cant get worse than it already is and if we don't accept his assistance we are both going to be dead anyway. Do you want that thing controlling you? Do you want something ordering you around and forcing you to do things like you did to Sam? Do you really want that?'

'No… no of course not.' Floyd glanced down at Sam. 'However…'

'Pick Sam up and bring him down to the cellar. I have a feeling he's going to be needed in some fashion. I don't want to think about exactly what but the three and now four of us are here for a reason and we have to stay together. Sam was led to get a priest. You tried to stop him.'

Floyd shook his head. 'I didn't _try_ Spence. I succeeded.'

Now Spencer gestured to the priest who had his hand on the door handle. 'No you didn't succeed because the priest is here. You failed. Now pick him up and don't fail again.' Reid's words carried more confidence than he was feeling.

'I'll kill the motherfucking priest.' Floyd said between clenched teeth. 'I'll fucking kill him.'

Spencer said nothing but pointed down at Sam and then turned his back on Floyd. He paused waiting for the hand to grab him and readied himself for impact on the back of the head, but he heard a soft moan from Floyd as he picked Sam up again. 'Ok Fr Morris. If you're sure about this.'

'Never been so sure about something in my life.' He crossed himself and pulled open the cellar door.

Reid spoke before the priest could go further. 'I think it would be a wise idea to let Floyd go first.' The wisdom being that Spencer really didn't fancy being shoved from behind or having a body hurled at him when walking down the wooden steps leading down to the cellar. Floyd grumbled and hissed between his teeth as the priest nodded and stepped out of the way.

'You're going to have to learn to trust me.' Floyd thought that was fairly reasonable and Spencer thought it completely unreasonable considering what Floyd had in his arms. 'But sure, I'll go first if it will stop you pissing yourself in panic.' He adjusted how he was carrying Sam and again an arm dropped out from under the covering. Spencer lifted the pale slightly warm hand and frowned as he covered it again. Something was niggling at the back of Spencer's mind but he put it down to the fear he was feeling about going down into the cellar for the first time, even though Floyd had said that there was nothing down there – Spencer thought he knew otherwise. Floyd walked down slowly into the darkness, but Spencer pulled the light cord at the top of the stairs which caused a dull flickering light from down at the bottom and a slight buzz from the strip lighting which Spencer thought looked as though it would really rather not be there; as though the light it self didn't want to see what was there.

Floyd moved across the floor and deposited Sam over by the wall. Reid and Morris stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. The room which looked to be about twenty foot square had a low ceiling which was only just high enough for Spencer not to have to duck down a bit. The walls had maybe once been painted white. The floor was bare concrete. There was a dreadful oppressive feel to the room and a smell of damp old death with maybe a touch of fear, which Reid thought maybe was wafting from his own pores. The walls were covered in splatters of blood which looked as though it had been spread around by fingers or hands. There was blood sprayed over the ceiling and in places it was puddled onto to floor. There was writing also this was what Floyd had said they must not look at and Spencer could see that Floyd was looking down at his toes and avoiding looking at the mess around him. There were also a few candles which looked as though they'd not burnt for long and a couple of holy wafers sitting next to a particularly big splat of blood. Floyd moved back to where he'd left Sam and crouched, placing an almost protective hand over the bundle he'd placed there and if Spencer didn't know otherwise he may have believed that it _was_ a protective hand, but he knew otherwise. Floyd then sat with his back to the wall and pulled Sam still wrapped in the blanket onto his lap and began again to make that odd keening sound which seemed to be louder here in the confined space. Morris was looking at the writing over the walls and so now that Spencer knew that Floyd was settled he moved in next to the priest.

'Don't read it.' He told him softly. 'It's some kind of summoning I think.' Though Reid had been avoiding looking at them, that was what Floyd had told him the writing was and so he was warning Morris.

Morris shook his head and knelt on the floor next to the wafers. He then pulled out a small silver coloured box with angelic engravings on the lid. 'Protection.' He muttered to Spencer and then reached for his hand and pulled in to kneel next to him. 'In the box – holy wafers and water.' Floyd moaned a bit louder at this and said something about needing to puke. Spencer glanced at him and then looked back at the priest.

'Do you have prayers to counter what's on the walls?' Spencer asked as he watched the priest open the small silver box.

'You talk as though I'm a witch and you want magic spells. It doesn't work that way – and as I said the writing on the wall is not dangerous. They are prayers. They're protective.'

Reid looked at Floyd again who had slipped his hands under the blanket and was very obviously stroking Sam. 'You said…'

'Fuck what I said. Fuck it all. You believe him over me?'

'I think so.' Spencer had two cheroots in his pocket. He pulled one out and offered it unlit to Floyd. 'You need this?'

Floyd shook his head. 'Whatever the pair of you are going to do – get on with it. The floor is damp and you know what sitting on cold damp surfaces does to your arse don't you? Apart from making it cold and damp… Get on with it while I still have a small amount of control here.'

Reid stared at Floyd. He could hear him speaking and it sounded like the Floyd he knew (and loved?) but there was still that odd keening noise going on. He carried on watching Floyd as the priest laid out the few things he'd brought with him. Floyd pulled a blood smeared hand out from under the covers and began licking at it.

'He's got a nose bleed.' Floyd said to Spencer's puzzled face. 'I knew a witch called Laura. Do you remember Laura Spence? I don't know if you will or not, but anyway she knew the herbs. She was good at this protection shit. I don't think a poxy priest is going to have a lot of hope to pull forward and then expel what's inside my head.' Floyd looked down at the blanket and pulled a face at it and then tipped it off his lap. 'Fucker's pissed himself.' Floyd muttered.

Spencer was going to race over there and see what the hell was going on. Sam couldn't be bleeding or emptying his bladder. He was dead. That sort of thing would have either happened or stopped hours ago. Reid looked down at his hands and then over at Floyd. He was thinking about how Sam's hand had felt warm to touch, how there was blood in the bed, how Floyd seemed to be making a lot of noises which had Spencer not known better would have thought were coming from Sam. He opened his mouth to say something, but the priest drew back Spencer's attention by pulling on his arm.

'I have some bibles.' He said to Spencer. 'Take one to your friend. We can read aloud together.'

Reid though shook his head. 'I don't think that's going to work. My friend wont do that. He's sort of…' Spencer wanted to say that Floyd was agnostic, but he wasn't, it was something else Floyd was. '…not a believer in…' But that was wrong too because Floyd _was_ a believer. 'He's… he wont…' Reid shrugged. 'He's against organised religion.' He finally said. That seemed the best way to say it without actually saying that Floyd batted for the other team.

'Very well. If you'd like some form or protection then it's available.' The priest looked over at Floyd who looked as though all colour had drained from his face. Floyd shook his head.

'I've all the protection I need right here.' He pulled back the blanket to reveal Sam who had blood smeared over his face and lips and the odd keening sound seemed to be suddenly louder.

'Can you comfort him?' The priest was trying not to show his alarm that the thing Floyd had been lugging around was the lad who'd come to his house asking for help. Help which he'd initially refused.

Spencer stood. He felt his hair brushing against the low ceiling and he would have smacked his head on it if he'd jumped up to his feet a bit harder. 'What the… what…? What the hell!'

'Well maybe you'll believe me in future when I say I can fix something?'

'But it's not possible!' Spencer walked over to Sam. He could see black bruising beginning to form over his neck where before there'd been nothing. He could see colour returning to Sam's lips. He could see behind the closed lids that Sam's eyes were flickering back and forth. 'He was dead!' Spencer shouted. 'I saw him! I felt… I felt him!'

'I'm sure you did. I knew you'd cop a feel when I wasn't paying attention. Now I suggest that you go back to good old Morris over there and blah blah blah some fucking words which you know as well as me wont work. I'm going to get that axe or a sharp knife. Don't mind me. Carry right on with your crap. It's not going to work. You know it's not going to work. The thing – who _will_ remain nameless requires a sacrifice.'

Floyd stood and started to walk to the stairs.

'No!' Spencer was there pulling Floyd back. 'Don't be insane! You cant!'

The priest was muttering words under his breath which Spencer hoped were going to help and heal and comfort. He could hear Floyd's heavy breaths as though the words Spencer wanted for comfort were causing Floyd pain. 'Get the fuck off me Babes or it's _your_ head I'm going to offer up.'

'He's alive!'

Floyd spun on Reid and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Spencer felt his feet leave the ground as Floyd seemed to pick him up and push him back until Spencer's back was against the wall. 'You want it to be you? You're willing to give your life and damn your soul to an eternity of wandering and pain? You want what I have? You want to be something no one will ever like or want to be near? You want to be avoided and reviled and accused of shit you never did – or at least didn't mean to do? You really want to take his place? You want to be a filthy cunt who rubs his cock against any hard surface you can find? You want to dry hump fags and rent boys in back streets? You want to relieve the pain in your head by sticking needles in your arms? Is that what you want? You want to go from being the perfect fucking F fucking B.I. boy and Gideon's love and Aaron's little treasure to being a whore and a boy cunt whose only use is to drop his pants or give blow jobs? You want to be like Sam? You want me to arrange that for you?' He shook Spencer and moved his free hand to grip around Spencer's neck. 'You want to sacrifice yourself for that _thing_ who doesn't have a reason to live apart from humping everything and anything he can find. Oh think what Derek Morgan would say… how would Emily feel when you rip her sweet little black silk panties away from her cunny and stick your fingers up her… or your raging red hot cock… how will they feel about you then Spencer?' He gave Spencer another small shake. 'Open your fucking eyes and listen to me! Are you going to try to tell me that you can resist the urges boiling away in your balls?'

Reid could feel an almost forgotten feeling of his life being crushed out of him by Floyd's hand. He wanted to answer. He wanted to give Floyd a sensible and reasonable reply but all he could manage to do was try to knee the man in the groin. It was something Spencer wouldn't have attempted a few years ago. He would have let this feeling of a slow choking death invade his mind and he would have allowed Floyd to continue with his rant, but not now. Things had changed. Spencer had coped with Floyd being away. He'd learnt how to keep himself safe knowing that there was no Floyd to come running to his aid if he got into trouble. He was not the same Spencer who Floyd had battered into submission. At least not totally the same Spencer. His knee made good contact. Unfortunately it had absolutely zero effect on Floyd and only made his squeeze tighter.

'Don't you fucking fight me you mother fucking slut! Try that again and your death is going to be long and painful.' He released Reid though and turned to the priest who was standing there holding up a small golden cross and muttering _holy_ words at Floyd. 'Shut the fuck up you stupid arse. If you want to help then… Actually no. I think I know how you can help. Do you like boys Morris?'

Morris continued to mutter the words he knew by rote.

'Do you touch boys up Father? Do you like a bit of little boy cock in your hands?'

The words of protection continued.

'I've an idea. I've a wondrous idea. Spencer get to your fucking feet and don't you dare touch Sam. Leave him alone. He's sulking but he's got what he wanted. You happy with the results Sam? Are you happy that the priest is here muttering his filth at us? Is it making your head hurt as much as it is mine?' Floyd raced up the stairs, pulled the cross off the door and then raced back down again taking them two at a time. 'Sam got what he wanted. Spencer… well Spence Babes… is this what you wanted? Is this what you expected? Are we all happy with how this has turned out? This thing here…' Floyd waved the cross at the priest. '… has no power. The guy who put it there had nothing in his heart but greed and lust for things he couldn't have. He'd locked his mind away behind prayer and a false god in an attempt not to go out doing what he shouldn't. I cant tell exactly what that thing was but it doesn't feel lustful. I don't think he was of that breed. He feels like a drinker and gambler… maybe a thief…but it's irrelevant because whatever charms he placed down here… Are they called _charms_ Father? Whatever they are he placed them but his heart was corrupt and they didn't work. They almost did though. I can feel the thing inside of me panicking so I do know at least that the other bloke was almost there, but now back to you. Are you pure of heart Father Morris? Do you fuck boys? Do you take money from the poor to put wine on your table? Do you wonder about what it would be like to fuck a nun? Do you secretly watch porn on your laptop? What's your vice Father Morris?'

The priest stepped towards Floyd. 'My vice is maybe a greater sin than those you're attempting to discredit me with. I _know_ what's out there. I've seen it. I've felt it. It's why I've been sent here. My vice comes to me in the form of fear. You want my confession? Will that please you? You would like to know what dreadful things I harbour in my mind and secrete behind prayer and my undying belief in what I am? It's purely that I've seen beyond and I know what's there and yes that scares me. Yes I confess that I will sometimes come across someone who will make my skin crawl and my heart pound. I will hear something in the back of my head telling me to run… ordering me to get out while I can… but I stand firm. I have this…' He waved his cross at Floyd. '…and you might have a filthy mind and a disgusting mouth, but I have my faith and you…' Another wave of the golden cross. '…beings… people like you don't shake my foundations… they underpin them…they make them firmer, because all the time there are people like you walking the planet I _know_ that what I believe in is The Truth. I wont be shaken by lesser beings when I have The Power of the Greatest living inside of me.'

'Has everyone lost their fucking minds?' Floyd bellowed. 'Spencer get over here now! Don't crawl! I'll assume you're going to blow me and I don't have fucking time for that now. Get on your damned feet and go over there with Sam. Keep him back. Hold him… hell fuck him if you feel you want to. Do anything but keep him the hell away from me or his brains are going to be mixed with who ever already made the mistake dear Morris here already made. Get over out of my way. Gag him… with your cock if you have to, but keep him quiet and don't let him start moaning that I killed him when obviously that's about as true as me… me… about as true as me never… never having… Cant think of something but you know what I mean? Good. Hold on tight. Now Father Morris are you going to shut the fuck up and let me do this, or are you going to stand there trying to repel me with your saintly verbal script? I don't care which, to be honest with you. Either way you're going to take the place of my Sam over there. I can live a life time without you in it, but I'm afraid that Sam's sort of precious. Especially on those nights when the wind is blowing and the snow is falling… oh a bit like tonight really, well as I was saying… on nights such as that or this, it's nice to have something small and hot rubbing against your arse or having an arse to rub my own heat against. You'd not understand that though would you? Do you masturbate Fr Morris? Do you get hot and hard when you read the words in that book? I'd imagine you would. Do you get the pages stuck together when you read about how he sacrificed himself or his kids or whatever to whomever? Does that excite you Morris? Do you get your cock out when you lay in bed thinking about your sermon? I'm sure you do… oh I can just imagine how you stand there with the lectern in front of you to conceal the filth going on in your mind. Don't try to dissuade me Morris. All men are the same. Their balls would explode if they didn't wank occasionally.

'But you're not a real man are you Morris. You're castrated… not physically but mentally. Not a real man, but still good enough for my purpose. You want insight into my purpose? Do you want to know why I'm going to consign you to the pits of hell? I could stand here all fucking day telling you every detail and just as I'm about to do what I'm going to do – and I'm actually _not_ going to tell you – then the cavalry comes flying down the stairs and my evil plan will be thwarted. So I'd best get on with it. Spencer I can hear Sam crying. Give him a hug damnit. But not too much off a hug, or put your hand over his face and quieten him. Father Morris cant concentrate with Lazarus over there moaning like a fucking zombie. Right…' Floyd held onto the cross he'd taken off the door with both hands. It was hefty and made of wood. It would serve Floyd's purpose. 'Father Morris would you please kneel for me and avert your eyes. Let's not make this harder than it already is. I'm not talking about what I'm going to do but damn… priest killing always turns me into a rampant and rather wanton mother fucker and my balls are about to explode and I do believe I'm going to make a mess in my pants… kneel please if you don't mind and move it… faster… good boy. If you would like to shut the fuck up… that would help too, but you may if you wish carry on. It'll make no difference. Spencer why are you moving? Stay at the wall and keep Sam away from me before it's his brains I smash out of his skull and not the priest's… and ouch… sorry Morris. I've told what I'm going to do to you now. I hope you can cope with that. Morris… Before we start – are there any last words you'd like to make. A confession? A final prayer to your gods or god? A message to send onwards to someone who may or may not miss you? Anything? Nothing? Just a little mutter of anything?' Before the priest could reply and before he could look up to see what Floyd was going to do the heavy wooden cross came down on the back of the priest's neck. There was a horrible sickening crunching sound and the rest of what happened Spencer chose to pretend never happened.

Reid ignored the way Floyd ripped into the man and pulled flesh away from bone. He ignored the way Sam shuddered and twitched and seemed to convulse on his lap. He even ignored the animalistic screams Floyd was making as he tore out bits of priest and started to eat. He didn't listen to the way bone cracked, smashed, squelched. Flesh tore, ripped, splattered and those noises… that sound of sucking and moaning and Spencer put one arm over his head and pulled Sam closer with the other so that Sam was sitting on his lap facing him and pressed in tightly. Spencer thought that Floyd was screaming, but he wasn't sure. He didn't want to make sure either. He just sat and tried to pretend that he'd just been to see the most dreadful 3D movie ever made – one which seemed to have smell-o-vision too. Spencer felt right there with warm _bits_ occasionally dripping onto him and with Sam (who should be dead) wriggling on his lap and with Floyd screaming in something mixed with ecstasy and pain… yes Spencer thought he had a right to not be ashamed to cry.


	21. Chapter 21

21

'There's going to be an earthquake. This _is_ an earthquake. I'm going to die buried under this house. All of this for nothing. I'm going to die anyway. And actually I'm _glad._' Spencer thought he was talking to himself as the building around him began to rattle. Faintly from upstairs he could hear things falling over and smashing to the ground.

'Well before you do that can you get me up the stairs Spence?' A small croaky voice coming from Sam.

It was obviously impossible that Sam was talking to him. The face looking up intently at him couldn't have blinked or licked slightly pink lips. It was Sam's face and Sam was dead. He could see… he could see bruises… he could now hear a sound coming from Floyd which was less of a manic howl and more like someone suffering from a deadly slow acting poison. Spencer didn't want to look at Floyd though. He was still attempting to block out what he'd seen and heard and trying now not to look at Sam and ignoring the fact that Sam was talking and wriggling on his lap he wrapped the blanket around him again and stood. He began a wobbly walk towards the steps leading back up into the house. He felt something snatch at the leg of his trousers but pulled away quickly as he muttered. 'I'm going to die. I need to get out. I'm going to be crushed.' And cautiously Spencer walked up the steps leaving the screaming banshee behind him crouched in a pool of blood and surrounded in bits Reid didn't even want to begin to think about. Spencer carried Sam through the shaking house and out of the front door. He paused and looked at the snow still falling and then walked to the van. He dropped Sam into the snow, opened the passenger door, picked Sam up again and threw him across the seats. 'Just don't move.' He said. And he meant it. He thought if Sam moved and spoke out here, out where the ground was only slightly trembling, Spencer thought that he'd run screaming and hurl himself off the cliffs. As it was Sam said nothing. And that was how it should be. Sam was dead after all. Spencer then slammed the van door and walked back to the house muttering that he needed his bag and he needed Sam's bag. The front door of the house was ajar. The door frame seemed to be out of line with the door by quite a few degrees. Spencer stood and looked at it for a while and wondered if that door had been actually holding the hole of the house up and now that he'd opened the door there was nothing left to support it. He thought that could be true, but he still had to go upstairs – Spencer let out an small laugh at the very idea – and he needed to get the bags. If nothing else the keys to the van were upstairs. He ran. He took the stairs two at a time and he hurtled down the short passageway and into the main bedroom. He grabbed up Sam's bag, Floyd's bag, crossed to his own room, snatched up his own bag and then ran back to the stairs again. They didn't look quite right. They looked as though they were just out of sync with everything else. They looked like some kind of optical illusion but Spencer couldn't figure out what was wrong with them. He charged back down and stopped in the hallway. There was something on the floor which hadn't been there previously… A long smear… a trail even… of blood, hair, slime, globs of stuff and the trail headed in a line from the cellar door out of the front door.

Spencer did something very rare. Something which would have made anyone who knew him stop what they were doing and turn to look.

'Fuck.'

Spencer swore.

'Floyd…' He hissed between his teeth as the house wobbled and rattled around him. '… out there… with Sam… at the van.' He tried to take deep breaths but was finding each sticking in his chest and refusing to co-operate. '… don't panic. Everything is going to be good.' He comforted himself and forced his legs to move forward and out of the door. Floyd was hunkered down next to the van with arms wrapped around his head, throwing up into the snow. For a minute Spencer stood and just looked at him. It had at last stopped snowing and so the trail of blood in the snow wasn't being covered. Reid walked over to the van and pulled open the driver's door. Now he wasn't sure if he should attempt to get Floyd in the van too or if he should leave him hunched over puking in the snow. Reid walked back to Floyd though and crouched down in the snow next to him.

'I cant drive.' Floyd mumbled. 'But we have to get out of here fucking quickly. The whole place is going to… implode and tumble… into the sea. It'll take us with it if we don't get the hell out of here.'

Reid tentatively put out a hand and rested it on one of Floyd's shaking shoulders. 'It's not possible to drive in this. We will kill ourselves on the roads if we can even get the van out of the driveway.'

'Well Spence if we stay here we will definitely die. I'm up for that if you are. Where's Sam?'

To Reid this sounded like the Floyd he knew. This was _his_ Floyd again. Though whether he would remain like this he didn't know and he wasn't sure if he wanted to travel in a van with Floyd driving, or himself driving even. 'Well get in the back of the van and I'll give it a go.' Reid stroked the top of Floyd's sticky head and then wiped his hand clean in the snow. He climbed back into the van and turned the keys and listened for the groaning rattle of the engine. Once Floyd had dragged himself to the rear of the van and was secured inside out of sight Spencer reversed slowly, very slowly out of the drive way. The effort of moving away from the house was making his eyes water and there seemed to be small groaning sounds coming from Sam who Spencer had squashed down into the passenger seat well. It also seemed that the further from the house they went the more the ground shook and rattled beneath them. He'd been hoping that it would lessen, but as the van crawled down the high street Reid could see that the buildings here, which were mostly still shut up for the summer, were rattling and shaking too. He wanted to ask Floyd how far they had to go to be safe. He wanted to ask Floyd what had happened, but he'd have to stop and go around the back of the van to do that and he just needed… desperately needed to escape this place and go Home. He wanted to curl up in his own bed and stay there forever never having to move or think again. He wanted someone to arrive with some kind of magical device and wipe his memories clean of the things he'd seen and was trying to pretend he'd not. He drove much slower than Floyd had done on their arrival, but still skidded around corners making the thing on the floor whimper and the thing in the back crash against the side. The rumbling of the road slowly died back though. It seemed to have been at its worse just as they left the village. Reid heard an almighty explosion from behind him and he was tempted to stop and have a look, but he even managed to avoid looking in the wing mirrors. Whatever happened back there was no longer his problem. His problem was what he was going to do with Sam and what Floyd was planning because he was sure Floyd must have been planning and plotting something. He drove until he was beyond the snow clogged village which seemed even more empty today if that was possible than the day he'd walked into the village and been given the book. The snowfall didn't seem so bad once outside the village boundaries either and so Spencer pulled over, dragged a bag out from behind the seat and ran to the back of the van to see how Floyd was managing.

Floyd was being very sick. He'd thrown up and crawled through his puke and then thrown up some more. He wasn't shaking so much as he had been, maybe, but the man looked like he was dying and as Reid stood there looking at him he wondered now if he even cared. He wanted this nightmare to be over, to wake up in his bed in his apartment realising that he'd got dreadfully drunk and had slept through the whole of the festive season. He pushed the bag into the back of the van and Floyd looked up at him.

'You did good Babes.'

Reid didn't feel like he'd _done good_. He'd let Sam die (?) and he'd allowed the priest to be devoured and had done nothing to stop him. He'd sat and watched (or tried not to watch) and had allowed that dreadful thing to happen. They would find his body. He would… Spencer would be arrested and incarcerated. He would be blamed and Floyd would walk away and let it happen. 'Is there anything you need?' Spencer asked him though.

'Just keep driving for a while. An hour maybe. Got any drink packed away anywhere?'

Spencer shook his head. 'I'll get you something when we stop over.' He partially climbed into the back of the van so that he was kneeling. 'We will be arrested. They will find the remains there and questions will be asked. A lot of questions. I was wondering if it would be better to hand ourselves over.'

Floyd dragged his bag towards himself. 'Are you sure there's no drink in here?'

'Not unless you placed it in there… Floyd… we have to have a plan. We have to know what we're going to say.'

Floyd pulled out a jacket from his bag and slipped it on over the bloodied clothing he was wearing. 'We will need to say fuck all Spence. There'll be nothing left of the place. It'll be like it never existed. You don't need to worry. Keep driving for a while. Stop over if you see a café or motel. I could do with a long sleep.' He held his hands up to look at them closely. 'What I did… what I had to do… I didn't start that shit. That wasn't me. The only way to expel filth is to clean it. I had to clean it out of my head. You understand that don't you? Like washing out a shit smeared toilet with industrial cleaners. No point in using water, even if it's warm. You need the real stuff. Don't get things because they're cheap. They don't work as well. What was needed there was a man who honestly had the passion and the belief. I had to flush out the bad with the good. Now that means effectively that I've poisoned myself. It's like drinking radioactive mercury. Not good… very not good. So get back in the van and keep driving.'

'Floyd.' Spencer slipped back out of the van again. 'You were infested by something… is it gone?'

'Very gone. It might one day return my beloved but not to me. I'm fully flushed and have a bleach block in place. It'd choose Sam next time perhaps but more likely go someplace else and torment people who don't know how to get rid of it. Sam's OK is he? There was a smudge of doubt in your mind that I could fix him.'

'Sam's dead.' Spencer moved right back now and held onto the van doors. 'I'll keep driving.'

'Sam's not dead. Check up on him. But yes… keep driving sweets. Find me a warm bed and find yourself something to eat.'

Reid didn't think he'd be eating again in a long while. 'Fine. Are you warm enough?'

Floyd though didn't answer. He curled back up on the icy floor and waved a dismissive hand at Reid who quickly closed and locked the doors and went back to the cab to find Sam sitting on the passenger seat looking out of the window at all of the snow.

'Please get back down where I put you. By sitting there you're forcing things to be how they shouldn't be. For me Sam… please.'

'I was going to help you navigate.' Sam ran a lazy finger over the misting up window.

'We can talk whilst I drive then.' Spencer decided. 'But I feel I'm in a nightmare…'

'I have nightmares. Do you want to hear one of them? Might take your mind off the horrors playing in your own head.'

Reid ignored Sam. His brain was not going to accept that the young man was sitting there chatting as though nothing had happened but it didn't stop Sam from babbling on about how he'd been burnt alive and how he'd felt his skin bubbling and his eyes popping and his heart exploding as his insides boiled. Spencer stopped the van again and turned to look at Sam.

'OK you can talk. I accept that you're talking. I don't know how and I don't want to know how, but I will ask you to stop saying things like you are. You cannot die and come back to life again. It's not possible.'

'You know it is.' Sam hissed at him. 'You know full well it is… so why the denial. Were you glad that he did that to me? Are you happy when you thought I was gone for good?'

Reid shook his head. 'I've no time for this now. I need you to be silent. If you cant be then you'll have to get in the back with Floyd. I don't want to talk about what happened or what may have happened or what certainly didn't happen. I want you to be quiet and let me think.'

Sam shrugged. 'Want a blow job while you wait and do your thinking? I wont charge you. Not this time anyway.'

A small pale hand slipped over Reid's lap which he pushed away. 'Don't. Just don't touch me.'

'It was fine when you wanted to fuck me though wasn't it? You didn't mind using me then like Floyd uses you did you? That was OK, but when I want something I get fuck all.'

'I'm driving.' Spencer excused and started to pull away and down the slightly less hazardous looking street.

'Just a quicky? Or you can blow me.' His hand slipped onto Spencer again. 'I'll pay you. Will you whore for me Spencer? Just once. Get a feel for how good it is to deliver something like pure sex and then get paid for it. It's a good feeling.'

'It's called…'

'Whoring. I know what it's called. What makes you so special that you wont join in? You let Floyd fuck you and in return he pays your rent and bills, so in a way you're his private little whore aren't you? You already fuck which needs to be paid for I cant see that one little gobble is going to make any difference to your moral…'

'Shut up.' Spencer snapped and ignored the rest of Sam's whining requests for sex.

They stopped off at the same place – Spencer thought – as when on their drive down. This time it would be Spencer though getting out and slipping through the snow to get them a warm drink. He wasn't so sure that he could drive for all the hours Floyd had done. Actually he was certain of it. The cold air seemed to wake him up for a bit though but Sam's constant talking was wearing him down even as he walked to the back of the van to let Floyd out to play. Floyd had cleaned up as best he could, which was the first surprise Reid got. Floyd had changed his clothes into something slightly less blood soaked and vomit covered. The three of them walked slowly over the snow towards the café which was set back from the road and looked rather picturesque in the snow. It looked warm and inviting too. Reid just wished that there were rooms here too. Floyd and Sam slipped into an empty booth whilst Spencer went and put in an order of proper food and some coffee. He also asked the man behind the counter if there were any motels nearby. He was promptly directed to something a couple of miles further down the road.

'You don't want to leave it too late though. Not in this weather. You might find yourself stuck here the night.'

Reid agreed with him and changed his order to sandwiches which maybe he could get the other two to eat as he drove. However when he sat down he was overcome by such tiredness that he was tempted to ask Floyd to drive for a while. The temptation was only fleeting though. They didn't talk here. The things they wanted to talk about couldn't be talked about in such a public place. Floyd ate his ham sandwich with reluctance. He moaned that the ham was rubbery and the bread tasteless. Sam tore his sandwich apart and after inspecting it closely ate it in small finger sized pieces. Spencer was a bit more hungry than the others and ate his with pleasure. Untainted food. Nothing in it which shouldn't be. It was a delight actually. He sipped on the coffee and then got them all some donuts and they sat again in silence looking out at the van parked at the other side of the parking lot.

'Florida next time then.' Floyd suddenly said. 'I don't know what the fuck we're doing out here.'

Spencer smiled. 'You like this part of the world. You love the forests and open spaces.'

'I don't though.' Sam added. 'I'm more like you Spence. I like the bright lights and night life. I like to see that there's other people in the world besides me.'

'I love the forests. You're right Spence… but not with the pair of you and not in the middle of winter. I wanted to treat you. It's not really been much of a treat has it? It was meant to be your Christmas gift.'

Reid nibbled on a donut and smiled again. 'I'm still hoping I'll wake up and find this was all a nightmare.'

'That bad huh?' Floyd drank back on the coffee.

'That bad. We can get rooms maybe at a place a couple of miles down the road. I think we need to book in somewhere and just sleep.'

Floyd nodded. 'You'll let me fuck you though? It's one of those things I've really missed. Coming in from and hunt and seeing you sitting there looking all dejected and unhappy and fucking you until you pass out.'

'That's not dejection you see on my face Floyd. It's something else altogether. Are we all done here? I want to move on before it's dark. Driving in this stuff isn't my idea of a fun day out and you're not in any condition to drive and Sam…'

'I _can_ drive actually, but I've never driven in snow. I don't know if I'd be safe. Plus masturbation and driving might get us pulled over.'

With that decided and the bill paid they walked back to the van. Floyd this time climbed in the front and squashed Sam against the door. He didn't want those little hands having a grope when he couldn't stop them. He then changed his mind and allowed Sam to grope all he wanted and as Spencer struggled to find the small motel they seemed to be enjoying whatever it was they were doing and Spencer was ignoring. Again he pulled over in the parking lot at the side of the road. The motel was a single storey building which had been constructed to look like a long log cabin. Reid waited to see if Floyd was going to get out and deal with the booking and when he didn't Spencer let out a long sigh and still avoiding looking directly at them he climbed out. 'I'll sort us out a room then?' There was no reply. He thought maybe mouths were too busy to voice an answer and though the image of what they were doing there in the cab of the van was implanted firmly in Spencer's thoughts he shrugged it off. He knew that if he was going to travel or _sleep_ with these two people then he was going to have to put up with their antics. Ten minutes later he was back again and tapping on the window to let them know that it was time to go. 'I've got a room.' He waved a key. 'Room Twelve.' He said and collected his bag where he'd previously stuffed it behind the driver's seat. 'Wouldn't that be more comfortable in the room?' He was beginning to feel snappy now.

'Spence Babes, yes. You're right. Just let Sam finish up what he's started and we'll be right there…'

If more was said Spencer didn't know. He slammed the door and crunched away to find warmth and a bed to sleep on. The room had a double bed and a twin bed in it. There was a small clean bathroom and a telephone so that Spencer could order in a few provisions. He made the call and ordered a pizza and more coffee and then lay back on the bed he assumed he'd be sleeping in – alone – and left the larger double bed for Floyd who arrived through the door just as Spencer had decided that he was going to sleep for a thousand years.

'What a shit hole. Couldn't you find somewhere better than this?' Floyd moaned and chucked his own bag down. He then pulled Sam through the door and muttered something to him. Sam nodded and walked to the bathroom where Spencer heard the shower start up. 'You can have a shower after Sam's done.' Floyd told him.

'I'm good as I am actually. I've ordered in pizza and now I just want to sleep. You two just carry on. Have fun. Don't let me stop you.'

Floyd could hear the annoyance in Spencer's voice and went to sit down next to him on the bed. 'It's not that I don't adore every fibre of your body Spencer. I just need to make sure that Sam's not going to reject the help I gave him. He's still mending.'

Spencer closed his eyes. 'Well maybe I need some help too. Had that occurred to you? I might not be physically in pain as such, but I'm hurting none the less.'

'You want comforting? You want me? After what you saw me do?'

Reid rolled over onto his side. 'Could you cope with a rejection Floyd? Will you do something for me?'

Floyd was now kneeling on the bed and his fingertips were lightly touching the back of Reid's neck. 'Anything. Just ask. Just ask and I'll sort it for you. Whatever it is.' Though Floyd hoped it wouldn't involve leaving Sam alone. 'What's it you want me to do?'

'Clean your teeth. Do that for me and I'll try to forget what I saw you eating.'

Floyd stood and turned his back of Reid. 'You think I enjoyed that? Did you order any drink by the way. I gagging for something to…'

'Well I'm sure if you're gagging then Sam needs further lessons on how to please you.'

'You've got a filthy mind sometimes. I assume you didn't order whiskey for me.'

Spencer rolled onto his back. '_I've_ got a filthy mind? Me? I wonder why that is? I wonder why when you say something in seeming innocence I take it and twist it to mean something else. Could it be because you meant something else in the first place? Clean your teeth and whilst you're doing that I'll see if I can get you a drink, but please don't get drunk. It's in my own bed in my… in _our_ apartment that I want to die, not out here in the middle of no where.'

'You're not going to die Spence. I'm not going to let that happen to you. And you have to remember that though what you saw was likely very vile and not good for your pure soul, it had to be done and it's made me feel sort of fucked.'

Reid nodded slowly. 'Well the same goes. I don't want to die here Floyd.'

And Floyd shook his head. 'Well good. Let me go sort out Sam and you order in that drink to go with the pizza. And before you get some sudden strange fancies in your head I'm just going to check he's recovering and not fallen into a dastardly relapse on the bathroom floor.'

The rest of the evening was spent sitting with Sam watching the television and Floyd attempting to get back into Spencer's good books again. He didn't want to have to beat him into submission, but he was also not going to let the man get away with excuses to keep away from him. He didn't like the way Reid had planted himself on the single bed and refused to move onto the larger one. 'Sam can have that bed.' Floyd kept insisting and eventually Spencer gave in and moved over to where Floyd was sitting.

'You scared me.' Spencer admitted.

'Good. It's good to be scared sometimes.'

Sam looked around at the pair of them. 'It keeps you alive. If you're never scared you die. It's what fear is for. You see I know what when I do drugs… are you listening to me?... when I do drugs that I have to be aware that the spike I stick into my arm, between my toes or in that fold of skin under my balls might be my final spike and that makes the drug work all the better. Lethargy is a killer Spencer. You need to keep your body alert.' This little speech made no sense to Reid. How can you be alert if you're drugged? You cant be and Spencer knew that only too well.

'If that's how you want to feel Sam then that's good. I don't though. I don't want to spend the rest of my life terrified. I've spent the past year or so living peacefully. I've gone to bed at night not wondering if I'll wake up or _where_ I'll wake up but in the knowledge that I _will_ wake up. At least I'm far more likely to than if I'm drugging myself.'

'Yes… but… you see if I don't – and if I just let life drag me along behind it what will I become?' Sam asked Spencer.

'A junky whore slut cocksucking cuntmuncher.' Floyd let him know. 'And you've done that even with the help of drugs. When we get back you're going to have to sort your fucking life out boy. Spencer and I don't want you hanging around us night and day.'

'I've no where to go!' Sam stood and walked towards the bed.

'Don't make me snap that pretty little neck again Sam. There's hostels and…'

'They wont have me! I've been banned from them all because I'm not clean and dry. You have to help me and find me a place.'

'I'll find you a fucking crematorium if you don't fucking stop moaning. I'm in recovery from a nasty poisoned meal which I had to eat to get rid of the thing inside of me… now let me rest. Turn that fucking TV off and lay down and sleep.'

A look passed between the pair of them. Spencer saw it. He saw that quick greedy glance Sam gave and he saw the small hardly noticeable nod of Floyd's head. He wasn't sure right then what Floyd had agreed to, but he soon found out.


End file.
